


Kintsukuroi

by NightAuthor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angry Hobbits, Angsty Thorin, BAMF Bella, Battle of Five Armies, Bella Gets A Clue, Beorn's House, Big Brother Fíli, Big Brother Kíli, Big-Time, Canonical Character Death, Character Death Fix, Confused Bard, Confused Dwarves, Dwalin & Thorin Oakenshield Friendship, Dwalin Is A Softie, Everyone's confused, F/M, Families of Choice, Female Bilbo, Fíli and Kíli Brotherly Love, Gen, Gold Sick Thorin, Hobbits are Confusing, Hobbits are Forgiving, Hot Dwarves, Kíli-centric, Married Life, Mirkwood, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smaug Loves Riddles, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin Oakenshield in Denial, Thranduil's a Jerk, UST, Waiting 'Til Marriage, Wedding Night, Weddings, Worried Dwarves, book!Beorn, confused elves, for now, yay!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 73
Words: 195,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightAuthor/pseuds/NightAuthor
Summary: Bella Baggins has spent more time than she ever wished to outside of the Shire, and would want nothing more than to spend the rest of her hopefully-long life there. Unfortunately for her, Gandalf has decided that she'd be better suited running for her life, in mortal peril and surrounded by strangers. Like she hasn't had enough of that.





	1. Ze

A shadow fell across Bella’s book and she looked up, ready to tell off whoever was blocking the light, only to see a Man standing just past her gate. He was dressed in a plain grey cloak, with a blue hat that only added to his already-annoying height, and a wooden staff that seemed familiar somehow. He was peering at her in a way that irked her, although she wasn't sure why. _Best to be rid of him quickly._ “Good morning.”

“What do you mean?” He countered immediately, putting Bella in mind of some of her Took cousins, the clever ones. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

He was still looking at her oddly, but the banter _I missed this_ was beginning to put her at ease regardless. “All of them at once, and a very fine morning for reading out of doors, into the bargain!” 

“Very fine, I'm sure, but I have no time for reading this morning. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure, and it's very difficult to find anyone.” Heart jumping into her throat, Bella’s eyes widened.

“I should think so, in these parts! We are quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty things! Make you late for dinner!” _And for so many other things._ With that, Bella turned back to her book and resolved to ignore the strange Man. For nearly a minute, she did. The man was still there, watching her silently and Bella grew very irritated. “Good morning! We don't want any adventures here. You might try over The Hill.” With that, she stood and stepped toward her door, her honey-gold curls swinging as she did. _Let Saradoc deal with him, if he wants an adventure._

“What a lot of things you do use good morning for! Now you mean that you want to get rid of me. To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's daughter, as if I were selling buttons at the door.” 

Bella froze. It had been years since she’d heard her mother's name from anyone but her aunts and uncles, those who remembered her mother before she settled down. “Beg your pardon?”

“You've changed, and not entirely for the better, Belladonna Baggins.” Even after so long, Bella still winced from the effort not to look around for her mother.

Slowly, she turned to look up at him, realizing as she did that she barely came above his waist; tall as she was, he must have been six feet, at least! “I'm sorry, do I know you?”

“Well, you know my name, although you don't remember I belong to it. I'm Gandalf! And Gandalf means me.”

Bella's eyes widened and she took a few quick steps towards him without quite intending to, her grip on her book loosening. “Gandalf! Not the fellow who used to tell wonderful tales at parties, about dragons and goblins and giants?” And that was why his staff was familiar; she used to watch it while he spoke, convinced that it shot sparks when she wasn't looking. “Not the man who used to make such excellent fireworks! I remember those! Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve!” The last Eve with those delights had been nearly thirty years earlier, when Bella was a mere fauntling, only eleven years old. “Dear me, not the Gandalf who was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the blue for mad adventures. Life used to be quite inter— I mean,” She flushed as she backtracked, “you used to upset things badly once upon a time. I'm sorry, I had no idea you were still in business.” _And he had another name, what was it?_

“And where else should I be? All the same, I am pleased to find you remember something about me, if only my fireworks and stories, and that is not without hope. Indeed, for your old grandfather Took's sake, and for the sake of poor Belladonna, I will give you what you asked for.” _What was he called?_

The old man was looking at her impishly, and Bella drew herself up to her full three-foot-eleven, trying to appear imperious. “I beg your pardon! I haven't asked for anything!” _Not from you, not ever. Wait, why do I dislike him?_

“Yes, you have,” he nodded gravely. “Twice now. Well, that's decided. It will be very good for you, and most amusing for me.” _Another name, one that Mother and Father used, the… the Grey One._

“Sorry, I don't want any adventures, thank you. Good morning!” Bella darted inside, heart pounding, before he could respond. After she closed the door, she realized she had dropped her book outside and groaned. There was no question of retrieving it now. She would simply read something else until she could be sure that the wizard wasn't lurking outside. Having decided, she nodded to herself and trotted off to her favorite library. When she peeked outside later and saw no Gandalf, she grinned, retrieved her book, and began reading where she'd left off before she even went back inside. In fact, she didn't even look at her door when she closed it.

That night, she had managed to put the peculiar encounter entirely out of her mind when she heard a loud ring from her doorbell. Glancing at the food on her counter, she grabbed a dressing gown and went to the door as she tied it tightly around her. _I do hope that isn't Primula; the rest of the food won't be ready for an hour, at least. Or worse, Lobelia. If she smells any of it I'll have to give her some._ Hoping for really anyone but her cousins, Bella opened the door and saw a Dwarf. _Not what I meant._ He was bald on the top of his head, covered in tattoos, and by far the most imposing person she'd seen in years. He pushed the door open slightly, pushed past Bella with a quick 'pardon me' to hang his cloak on her coat rack, and bowed to her.

“Dwalin, at your service.”

“Belladonna Baggins, at yours.” The Dwarf nodded and headed down the hall to the kitchen. _Oh dear, it's a bit cold, isn't it? Tea. Tea, and then figure out how to tell the giant Dwarf to leave._ As she neared the kitchen, the Dwarf, Dwalin, he’d said, came out carrying an armful of food and took it down the hall to the dining room. The Hobbit leaned against the doorframe for a moment and closed her eyes. At the sound of her… _guest_ digging into his food, she opened her eyes, tightened her dressing gown, and proceeded to make herself some much needed tea. The doorbell rang, jolting her out of the numb stupor she’d found herself in.

“That’ll be the door,” called Dwalin. Leaving her tea on the counter where she’d been stirring it, she hurried to open the door, hoping to see Gandalf so she could give him a rather large piece of her mind. Instead, she saw another Dwarf, this one apparently older than the other, as his hair was completely white, even if he did have all of it. 

“Balin, at your service.” His voice was modulated carefully in a way that would earn him the respect of half of the Shire, but all Bella could think to say was “Thank you!” She flushed again, knowing that it was not the correct response, but dazedly stepped aside so that he could hang his cloak beside Dwalin’s. “Is there cake, by any chance?” Bella nodded and scurried to the kitchen. _I may not have expected them, but I’ll not be a bad host because of that._ When she emerged, cakes in hand, it was just in time to see the two Dwarves exclaim ‘brother!’ and thud their foreheads together. _Ah, Balin and Dwalin. I wonder if Dwarves always do that with their names._ As she set the cakes down on the table, the doorbell sounded again, twice.

Two Dwarves stood before her, both young. The darker of the two looked almost worried, while the other was smiling at Bella in a way that made her blush. Neither had any real beard to speak of, although the blond one did have braids in his mustache, which jangled as he spoke: “Fíli!” 

“And Kíli!” Added the brunet. The two bowed and finished in unison, “At your service!” When he straightened, Kíli, the dark one, smiled more innocently than Fíli, but the genuine expression still made Bella’s blush deepen. 

“At yours and your family’s!” The both of them looked relieved at her response and came into the house, hanging their cloaks with Balin and Dwalin’s.

Dwalin’s voice came from the dining room, “Fíli, Kíli, come on, give us a hand.” The Dwarves hurried in, Bella following, only to see them readying to move her dining table.

“Let’s shove this in the hallway, otherwise we’ll never get everyone in.” Balin directed the others to their positions around the table, but the doorbell rang again, loud and long, before they began. Feeling rather wobbly, Bella made her way to the door, only to see a crowd of Dwarves, and Gandalf behind them. She said nothing, only opened the door to let them in and counted heads as they entered and gave their names: Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. 

Once they were all in, Bella rounded on the Grey One with a glare, though she felt so odd that she wasn't at all sure how effective it was. “Eight Dwarves, Gandalf? No, how could I forget the others; twelve Dwarves! With no warning, no time to prepare!” The wizard, though clearly uncomfortable stooping as he was, only chuckled at her expression and made to join the party. While she was distracted, they had managed to move all of the food in the kitchen and most of what was in her pantry into the dining room, which fit all of them after all. Bella stood and watched them eat for a few moments, but found herself so nauseated by their table manners that she retreated to the kitchen to drink the tea that was, miraculously, still sitting on the counter where she left it. Despite the uproar coming from her ‘guests’, she was left in peace for long enough to finish her tea and start another cup.

“Belladonna?” The wizard entered the room carefully, although he didn't seem to have noticed her flinch at her mother's name. “Why are you in here when the party is out there?” He chuckled. “And why were you so annoyed at not having notice when you were able to provide food for your guests regardless?”

“For your information,” she seethed, “That food was a wedding gift for my cousin, Primula. Or it was meant to be, anyway.” Feeling suddenly claustrophobic as a Dwarf entered the room, she ducked under Gandalf and past Kíli, who was standing just outside the doorway, and headed to her study, but stopped, horrified, at the sight of her dining room. She wasn't sure how some of the splatters had occurred, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. At the sight of two of the Dwarves, Bofur, with the funny hat, and one of the something-ri’s playing tug-of-war over a chain of sausages, she had to hold onto the wall as her knees wobbled.

“Excuse me.” She looked up to see another something-ri, the little one, holding an empty plate and looking lost. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?”

Fíli came up from behind her and motioned to the little one, “Here you go, Ori, give it to me.” Taking it, he tossed it casually past Gandalf to Kíli, who spun and flung it into the kitchen. As if some signal had sounded, more of the Dwarves began throwing dishes to Fíli, and the process continued. 

“Excuse me, that’s my mother’s West Farthing crockery,” Anger gave Bella the strength to step forward, although she flinched back from the dishes sailing just past her face. “It’s over a hundred years old!” A rhythmic thumping caught her attention, and she saw that most of the Dwarves who were still at the table were playing with her cutlery, and now began to swipe the knives across each other. “And can you not do that? You’ll blunt them!” She added when it seemed they were going to ignore her.

“Oooh, d’hear that lads?” Bofur said mockingly. “She says we’ll blunt the knives.”

The sound of Kíli’s voice a moment later sent shivers down her spine. She hadn't expected them to be musical. “Blunt the knives, bend the forks,”

Fíli chimed in, although his voice was closer to a Hobbit-y range, “Smash the bottles and burn the corks,” The rest of them joined in gleefully, but the sound of faint knocking at the door distracted Bella from their words. Opening the door as a new verse began, her only thought was _please, no more Dwarves._ When she saw Primula there, though, her heart sank.

“Bella?” Her cousin’s shocked, pale face sent pangs of guilt through Bella’s chest. Primula’s amber eyes, a little darker than Bella’s, as was her hair, were huge, terrified. “Is that the Grey One? Are— are those Dwarves?!” 

The key-change made Bella flinch, but she managed to respond evenly. “Unfortunately, yes. I had a bit of a home invasion tonight, and they ate all of your food.” 

Primula shook her head at Bella’s apologetic expression. “No, that doesn’t matter. Are you all right? Do you want me to call the Watch?” Her voice wavered on the last word, and for good reason. The Watch was made up primarily of passionate but inexperienced Hobbit-lads, most, like Primula, barely past their thirty-third year.

Bella shook her head. Even if the Watch fetched the Rangers, it would only cause more trouble than it was worth. “No, they're a nuisance, but harmless.” A yell of ‘that’s what Bella Baggins hates!’ came from the inside, followed by raucous laughter. Apparently they were finished with their song. Bella smiled consolingly down at her cousin, as she was more than six inches taller than her Brandybuck relative. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning, all right? You and Drogo.” 

Primula’s worried expression faded at the mention of her fiancé, and she nodded. “Goodnight, Bella. Good luck.” 


	2. Nu'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella meets Thorin and it goes... about as well as could be expected, really.

Bella watched her cousin unlatch the gate and realized that there was another Dwarf standing on the other side of the fence. He was dark, much like Kíli, and while she couldn't make out his expression in the night, he seemed to be watching her. Primula gave a small ‘eep!’ as she noticed him, and fled down the lane after tossing one last worried glance toward Bella. 

The Dwarf slowly came through the gate, and Bella, exasperated as she was with the situation, couldn't help the words that tumbled from her mouth. “I hope you won’t be expecting food; your companions have eaten almost everything in the house. And for Yavanna’s sake, tell me there aren't any more of you!” He stopped just in front of her. In the light spilling out of the still-open door, she could see that he had streaks of silver in his hair, and that his beard, while fuller than either of the boys’, wasn’t nearly as long as the rest of the company’s. His eyes, now visible as a sky blue, skipped over her face, and Bella flushed, but didn't dare say anything. Her outburst a moment ago had been rude enough; she wasn’t going to repeat it if she could help it. Instead, she stared up at the Dwarf, refusing to think about the fact that she barely came up to his shoulder. His eyes found hers again, and he frowned before heading past her. Turning, she realized that there was a glowing symbol on the door, the rune for ‘G’, if she remembered correctly. 

As she ran her fingers over it, trying to erase it with no luck, she heard the new Dwarf speak in a rumbling baritone. “Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. Wouldn't have found it at all if it weren’t for that mark on the door.”

Bella closed the door with a slight ‘thud’, glaring at Gandalf venomously over the salt-and-pepper head. “Yes, the mark that shouldn't be there, seeing as I just had that door painted a week ago.” 

The wizard had the good grace to look slightly abashed, but made no apology. “Belladonna Baggins,” she flinched, thinking of her mother, “Allow me to introduce the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

The newest Dwarf, Thorin turned and nodded infinitesimally. “So, this is the Hobbit.” The frown that had disappeared when he spoke to Gandalf returned as he looked her over. “Tell me, Mistress Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

Surprised at the non-sequitur, she could only stammer out, “Pardon me?”

Thorin circled her as he continued. “Axe or sword? What’s your weapon of choice?”

In fact, Bella had some skill with a bow, and practiced as often as she could without anyone knowing, but his tone, ever so slightly dismissive, riled her enough to snipe back, “Well, I’m rather good at Conkers, if you must know, but I fail to see why that’s relevant.” 

“Thought as much.” He smirked, glancing behind him to Kíli, Bofur, and a few others. “She looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” _And that’s bad because…?_ He headed into the dining room where, it seemed, the others had left just enough food for him. Still annoyed, Bella followed, hoping for a good story to tell Primula, if nothing else. While she settled into the corner, the Dwarves exchanged news about a meeting of some sort. Most of it flew over her head, but she noted it anyway, remaining silent until Thorin’s last words registered.

“You’re going on a quest?” Her heart jumped at the word. _Could that be it?_

Gandalf pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Belladonna, my dear girl, let us have a little more light.” Suppressing another flinch, although if the way Thorin and Bofur looked at her was any indication, she failed, she fetched another candle and set it on the table, next to the map that Gandalf laid out.

He spoke again, but Bella barely heard him. She was too busy reading the foreign names. Words jumped out at her: Greenwood, Smaug, and… “The Lonely Mountain.”

“Aye.” One of the Dwarves gestured to another. “Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time.”

The grey-haired Dwarf, Oin, nodded. “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

Bella felt a jolt. She had assumed the illustration of a dragon over the mountain was mere embellishment. “Beast?!”

Bofur nodded, eyes twinkling mischievously. “That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals—”

“Yes,” Bella cut him off with a huff. “I know what a dragon is.” The Dwarves began yelling about how they’d kill him, and how Gandalf would do it. Bella did her best to block them out while she examined the map, comparing it to the maps she’d spent her childhood memorizing. If her estimates were correct, the journey would take three or four months, assuming they had no delays, and then the same on the way back. Altogether, she would be away from the Shire for half a year at least, likely close to a full year, if she came back at all. 

The arguing came to a head, breaking her out of her reverie. Thorin leapt to his feet and shouted something like ‘shazera’ so loudly that Bella feared her neighbors may have heard. But the Dwarves fell silent and looked to him. “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread.” Gandalf’s expression caught Bella’s attention, and she watched him as she listened. “The dragon Smaug has not been seen for more than fifty years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?” He finished by shouting something even more foreign sounding than ‘shassara’, and the Dwarves cheered. But Bella and Gandalf stayed silent. After watching him, she was sure that he was up to something. He had some reason for this quest that Thorin hadn't told the others, and perhaps that Gandalf hadn't told Thorin.

Balin’s sober voice broke through the cacophony. “You forget: the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain.” Bella nearly snorted. Even Hobbits, peaceful as they were, always built back doors into their homes, and secret ones too, if they could. With all the tales Bella had heard of the belligerence of Dwarves, it seemed impossible to her that they wouldn't have at least built a way to get women and children safely out in case of attack.

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.” At hearing her thought confirmed, Bella smirked while Gandalf produced a large, ornate key from somewhere. 

“How came you by this?” Thorin’s tone swept Bella’s smirk away. He sounded awestruck, and when she looked, it was to see a light in his eyes that put Bella in mind of seeing Bag-End eight years ago.

“It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now.” The entire company seemed to be holding their breath as Thorin took the key gingerly, as if he thought it would melt away if held too tightly.

“If there is a key, there must be a door.” At that, Bella did snort. A few Dwarves looked insulted, including Fíli and Kíli, but Gandalf ignored her and pointed to the runes on the map.

“These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls.”

“There’s another way in!” Kíli glared at Bella after he voiced this, daring her to react. Bella simply raised one eyebrow and enjoyed the way he turned slightly purple. 

“Well, if we can find it,” _Always a catch,_ thought Bella as Gandalf continued. “But Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth,” Bella looked sharply at the wizard. _He wouldn’t._ “And no small” He glanced at Bella, whose eyes narrowed, “amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.” _He must be joking. He can’t be serious… can he?_

The little -ri interjected, “That’s why we need a burglar.” 

Gandalf nodded, ignoring Bella’s glare. “A good one.”

“An expert, I’d imagine,” Bofur said with a laugh.

“And are you?” She saw, out of the corner of her eye, a red-headed Dwarf look intently at her as he asked.

Still glaring at Gandalf, she scoffed, “Hardly.” Some of them began grumbling.

Balin shook his head. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Mistress Baggins. She’s not burglar material.” Bella began nodding.

“Aye,” Dwalin rumbled. “The wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.” At the word ‘fight’, Bella had stopped nodding and was now glaring at Dwalin as fiercely as she had been at Gandalf. _I’ll show you who can fight, you overgrown pincushion._ The Dwarves now began arguing in earnest, except for Thorin and Dwalin, who were watching Bella closely. 

Gandalf stood, seeming to gain at least a foot of height, and casting a shadow over the room. His voice, when he spoke, was thunderous. “Enough! If I say Belladonna Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar she is.” Again, Bella had flinched at the name, and Thorin seemed either angry or puzzled, or perhaps disgusted; she couldn't tell. Dwalin was watching Gandalf with the rest, and as they did, the wizard went back to his normal height and voice, returning the light to the room at the same time. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose.” 

Bella smacked him on the leg at that, and hissed, “That’s a secret and you know it!”

He continued as though she hadn't spoken. “And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Miss Baggins. There’s a lot more to her than appearances suggest, and she’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including herself. You must trust me on this.” The room was silent, and Bella studied the map rather than return any of the apprising looks the Dwarves were giving her. 

After an interminable few seconds, Thorin spoke. “Very well. We will do it your way.” When Bella looked up, he struck her as a little disgruntled. _Were he and Gandalf having a stare-off or something? Who would be so stupid as to challenge the Grey One? Or maybe so stubborn._ He gestured to Bella off-handedly, turning toward Fíli and Kíli. “Give her the contract.”

Bofur cheered. “Alright, we’re off!”

As he handed Bella a long scroll of paper, Balin explained, “It’s just the usual summary of out-pocket-expenses, time required, renumeration, funeral arrangements, so forth.”

“Funeral expenses?!” Bella began scanning through the contract, faintly aware of Thorin and Gandalf’s voices rumbling in the background. “Terms: cash on delivery, up to, not exceeding one fourteenth, if any. Fair enough. Da-da-da, injuries, da-da, not limited to lacerations… evisceration… incineration?” The thought of fire sent all the blood out of Bella’s head, and she wished she’d gotten a chance to eat earlier.

“Oh, aye, he’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye.” Bella tried to glare at Bofur, but couldn't quite find the focus necessary to pull it off.

Balin leaned toward her slightly. “You all right, lassie?” 

She put her hands on her knees. “Mm-hm.” She tried to make it sound as cheery as something half a step from a grunt could.

“Think furnace with wings.” Bofur’s words sent another wave of dizziness through her and she straightened to see most of the rather blurry company staring at her.

“Mm-hmm.” This time, she tried to make it as sarcastic as it could be.

“Flash of light, searing pain, then Poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash.”

Turning to Bofur face as it faded into darkness, Bella managed to eke out three little words before the darkness overtook her: “I hate you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say this on the last chapter's notes, but any recognizable quotes come from either the book or the movie. I tried to do a book/movie fusion, but it ended up a little biased toward the movie. Sorry, book fans, I love it too, but the movie has fantastic visuals, and I couldn't pass them up. Only thing I really wanted to point out was that some of you may have noticed I changed 'Smaug has not been seen for sixty years' to 'for more than fifty years', and yes, that was intentional. This is taking place in T.A. 2932, rather than T.A. 2941, and everyone is aged down accordingly. I had my reasons. Oh, also, according to official sources, Thorin and Dwalin are 4"11', but... yeah, I changed that, too. In this 'verse, they are now officially 4"9'. Pretty sure everyone else is their canon height, but I might recant that in tomorrow's notes.


	3. Gem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three guesses what Bella decides.

When she woke, she was sitting in a chair in her study, wrapped in blankets, with a mug of tea on the table next to her. Gandalf was watching her carefully from the other side of the room.

“I’ll be alright, just let me sit quietly for a moment.”

Gandalf’s face twitched briefly into scorn, then smoothed back into stern concern. “You’ve been sitting quietly for far too long. Tell me, when did doilies and your mother’s dishes become so important to you? I remember a young Hobbit who was always running off in search of Elves in the woods, who’d stay out late, come home after dark, trailing mud and sticks and fireflies. A young Hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire. The world is not in your books and maps; it’s out there.”

“I know it is!” Gandalf looked surprised for a moment at Bella’s vehemence. “For your information, my mother’s dishes became so important to me when they became the only things I had left of her. This house became so important to me when it was the only thing left of my father.” Broodily, Bella retrieved the tea from beside her before adding, “And for your information, I never said I wouldn't go. You made it all much too sudden for that.” 

The wizard examined her while she sipped her drink; he seemed to find something unexpected, but pleasing. “So, you will join the Company?”

Bella drank a little more tea before she answered. “I don't know. Perhaps. I’ll need to think about it.” 

The wizard frowned, but didn't disagree. “Very well. I shall leave the contract on the mantle. If you sign it, you’ll need to meet us at the Green Dragon Inn at eleven o’clock.” He stood and walked toward the door. Just before he reached it, Bella called his name.

Without looking up from her drink, she could hear him turn. “Can you promise that I will come back?”

He was silent for a long moment, then spoke heavily, as though with all thirteen Dwarves on his shoulders. “No. And if you do, you will not be the same.” Bella said nothing; he sighed and left the room. As he walked away, she heard two sets of soft footsteps move away from the door.

“It appears we have lost our burglar,” Balin muttered. Bella rolled her eyes. Apparently Dwarves didn't even know how well Hobbits could hear. “Probably for the best. The odds were always against us.” Bella’s ears pricked up. He sounded as though he was talking about something other than their numbers. “After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers; hardly the stuff of legend.”

“There are a few warriors amongst us.” Thorin’s voice wasn’t as quiet as his companion’s. _I doubt he even knows how to be quiet._

“Old warriors.” Bella frowned. Who did Balin mean? None of the company looked especially old except for himself and Oin, and the one who’d been in her kitchen earlier. The others seemed more than able to defend themselves.

“I will take each and every one of these Dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they came. Loyalty. Honor. A willing heart. I can ask no more than that.” Stunned, Bella nearly forgot about the drink in her hands. She’d thought Dwarves only valued gold and gems; Thorin’s statement sounded… well, it sounded almost Hobbitish.

“You don't have to do this. You have a choice.” To Bella, Balin sounded pleading, but like he didn't expect to succeed. “You’ve done honorably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor.” Bella agreed. Safety, comfort, there wasn’t much worth more than that.

“From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day when the Dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me.”

“Then we are with you, laddie. We will see it done.”

For a long while, Bella sat and thought while her tea cooled in her hands. Thorin had sounded almost desperate when he spoke of his family, and resolute, nearly resigned, when he finished. _Desperate to follow his parents wishes; now that’s familiar._ After all, isn't that exactly what she had done, had been doing for the last eight years? Following her mother and father’s last wishes for her to be safe and comfortable and happy. Except… Her mother would have known that she’d never be really happy staying cooped up all the time. Even after everything, she would have encouraged her to go on one adventure, at least, especially if the Grey One himself recommended her. Even her father, although he wouldn't have wanted her to actually go, wouldn't have hesitated to give the company everything he could; food, supplies, money, whatever they needed, and again, especially if Gandalf supported it. Bella didn't hold the wizard in the same regard as her parents had, but she couldn't deny that more often than not, in the stories people told, when he pulled someone off for an adventure, they succeeded in whatever they were doing, even if they didn't always come home afterward. 

The sound of music broke her out of her thoughts; humming, it sounded like. With some difficulty, due to the blankets still wrapped around her, she stood and went into the hallway, stopping across from Gandalf when she saw the Dwarves in her living area. Some were standing, and almost all were looking soberly at the fire, and at Thorin standing next to it. Bella wasn’t as surprised as earlier when they began singing, but her eyes did widen when she realized that it was Thorin singing. His voice was as deep as Kíli’s, but where Kíli’s was raw and untrained, Thorin’s spoke of a lifetime of practice. When Balin began singing, Thorin turned slightly toward him, but stopped when he saw Bella. One by one, the entire Company joined in, the song speaking of sorrow and regret. 

When they had finished, Thorin held Bella’s gaze for a long moment before she turned away. Crossing in front of Gandalf, she murmured, “I’ll open the doors to the guest rooms on my way. See if they can be quiet.” As she had said, on her way to her room she opened each bedroom door, glancing inside to make sure that they were in good condition. In one room, she stepped inside to retrieve a book she’d forgotten the last time she babysat Primula’s siblings. She had four guest rooms in all, each progressively bigger, and all bigger than her own. None of them were especially large, but as she heard them begin heading into the rooms, she was sure they would all fit. She had just begun to take off her dressing gown when a knock came at her door. As she opened her door, she held her dressing gown closed rather than retie it.

“Is this an insult?” Thorin definitely looked angry now, she was sure.

“What do you mean?” She rubbed her eyes with her free hand, wishing she could just sleep already.

“You’ve given us the master bedroom.”

Perplexed, Bella blinked at the Dwarf for a minute before understanding. “Do you think I gave you my room?” His jaw clenched. _That’s a yes._ She motioned to the room behind her. “This is my room. I’m afraid if you’re insulted by not being offered the smallest room in the house, you’ll have to live with it; I’m far too tired to move my things tonight, you should have said something earlier.”

His expression clouded into bewilderment. _So that’s what that looks like. Doesn’t suit him._ “You willingly take the smallest room?”

She shrugged. “This house is already too big for me; I don’t need to be reminded of it first thing in the morning.” When he didn't respond other than to stare at her, she sighed. “Good night, Master Oakenshield. I suspect you need your rest as much as I do.” He didn't move while she closed the door on him. _Oh dear, that was rude wasn’t it?_ For a moment, she debated opening the door and apologizing, but decided she could do that just as easily in the morning. She didn't hear him move away from the door until she was turning down the blankets. 

 _Should I… Maybe… No. I should._ Moving to the door, she locked it firmly. She had no doubt that she would have nightmares tonight, after all the discussion of burning and of her family. The last thing she needed was to be woken up by a stranger, or Gandalf, and they didn't need to be delayed out of concern for her. 

Just as she’d thought, her dreams that night were of fire and pain, unexpectedly interspersed with glimpses of a forest around a mountain, where a boy who looked a bit like Kíli wandered around in the moonlit glades. When she woke, it was to sweat-soaked sheets and a silent house. After dressing, she wandered around the halls for a few minutes, eventually going to the mantle. She took down the contract carefully, glancing at the clock to see that it was nearly nine-thirty; she’d slept longer than usual. Going over the contract again, nothing jumped out at her. It was all much the same as last night, with the same reasons not to go: laceration, evisceration, incineration, etc. But the song they had sung was still hanging in the air, Thorin’s voice when he spoke of his family, her own family’s faces if she stayed in her gilded cage, if she refused to help them. In the end, it only took a few minutes for her to decide. And it was then she realized that she’d automatically put on traveling clothes before she’d even thought about it; trousers, a long-sleeved undershirt, a green waistcoat, and an old but sturdy red jacket that had been her mother’s. 

Sitting in her study, she signed the contract and wrote out a letter to Primula, including a brief description of the night’s events, along with a will that left Bag-End to Primula and her eventual family. She sealed it carefully and packed a bag quickly with clothes and herbs she’d never thought she’d need, grabbing extra money for food, as she had none left, and finished a quarter after ten. Steeling her nerve, she locked each door, even the secret ones, and placed the keys in an envelope with the letter. She knew her neighbors were staring, although when she caught sight of the Gardener’s apprentice he waved cheerfully and she waved back. As she travelled through the street to Primula’s smial, more and more people stood in their yards and watched her. She did her best to ignore them, and, as she walked, wove her hair into a messy, but nevertheless effective plait that fell nearly to her hips. 

“What’s all the fuss ab… Bella?” 

She smiled sadly at Primula’s confusion, but handed her the envelope easily. “I’m going on an adventure. I don't know when or if I’ll be back, so I’ve left you and Drogo Bag-End. You’ll have to have someone clean it, I’m afraid; I’m probably late already and I don't have any time to spare.” Primula tried to interrupt, but Bella held up a hand and she quieted. “I want you to move in for the wedding, and I don’t have any food for you, but all my money’s there, and you’re welcome to it.” 

Eyes watering, Primula lunged forward and embraced Bella tightly. “Stay safe, Bella. Please, please, come home.”

Bella returned the embrace warmly, sniffling a little as she did. “I’ll do my best. Although if you let Lobelia get her claws into my father’s smial, I’ll come back and haunt you for sure.” Primula laughed tearfully and pulled back. Bella wiped away a few stray tears and let her cousin go. “Be happy, Primula. A full home, a full larder, a full life.” Primula smiled and gestured to Bella, clearly saying ‘you too’ even if she couldn't quite find the words. Bella straightened, pulled her pack tight, and set out for the Green Dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all, I just realized that I forgot to say that I'm getting the chapter titles from the Dwarrow Scholar, they're just the corresponding numbers in Khuzdûl. Secondly, I used this site (http://axebow.lcwsites.net/archive/0/comparativeages.html) to figure out the Dwarrow's equivalent ages, and I saw the part about Dwarrow not really aging between (in human terms) 30-60 and ran with it. So, in this fic, Balin, Oin, and Dori are the only ones to look their age. Everyone else looks about thirtyish, except Fíli and Kíli, who look their ages. I'll list their in-'verse ages in tomorrow's notes, complete with how they translate to Hobbit and human ages, promise!


	4. Ramekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veggies are consumed, cousins are sassed, Dwarrow are impressed.

Judging by the sun, Bella arrived at the Green Dragon a little early. When she entered the Inn, the room fell abruptly silent. Most of the Hobbits there either knew her or her extended family, and the Dwarves apparently hadn't expected her to come. The eyes of every Hobbit in the room followed her as she walked to Thorin’s table. Gandalf, who was sitting across from him, looked exceedingly amused. “I hope you weren’t going to leave without me.” She tossed the contract onto the table in front of Thorin. “That notwithstanding, would it be a dreadful inconvenience if I picked up some extra supplies before we head out? There’s a few things I didn't have at hand.”

Thorin had been visibly off-guard as she approached, but he’d schooled his expression quickly enough. Now he regarded her thoughtfully, head tilted to the side. She waited patiently, certainly not enjoying being taller than him for once. _Certainly not_. While she waited, she heard something being tossed around behind her, and barely kept from ducking as a small bag of money flew over her head to be caught by Gandalf. Finally, Thorin spoke. “Fíli, Kíli, go with her.”

 _Of course he couldn't speak directly to me, that would be ridiculous._ The boys stood with identical heart-stopping grins and bowed to her. Bella did her best to suppress her blush. _Now that would really begin a few rumors._ Head held high, she strode out the door, _not hurrying, not running,_ with the two trailing behind her and, as soon as she was outside, made for the only merchant who’d have anything like what she needed.

“Have you ever haggled before?” Fíli came up beside her with a smile.

Kíli, not to be outdone, darted in front of her and walked backwards, grinning. “We’re good at it!”

“We’ll take care of it for you— I get first shop!” Fíli didn't quite break into a run, but it was close.

“Hey, no, I want first go!” As the two boys bickered, Bella fought not to snicker as she slipped behind them into the shop. It took a good three minutes before they realized she wasn’t with them, during which time she found nearly everything she needed. 

“Miss Boggins?” Kíli’s plaintive voice, combined with the mispronunciation, sent Bella into giggles. The boys found her easily enough after that, but they walked as though they thought the building would fall apart if treated too casually. Eyeing how close they came to knocking a few items off their shelves, Bella thought that was probably a good thing. Upon seeing her arms full of various foods and supplies, they insisted on carrying them for her, which she tried to talk them out of. _Honestly, I didn't want them to carry my things for me. Really._ Chuckling every time she looked at them, she grabbed a few more things she hadn't been able to carry before, including a slightly larger pack and a bedroll. 

Once she was finished and led them to the counter, they ganged up on the merchant, who appeared to enjoy the challenge. Bella took the opportunity to examine them more closely, seeing that Kíli was a bit taller than Fíli, although she would guess he was the younger. Thorin probably still had a inch on him, but not much more than that. Kíli was broader than Fíli, too. He was closer in coloring to Thorin, apart from his eyes, but as she watched them, it struck her that Fíli was much more similar where temperament was concerned. It seemed more and more likely that the three were related, but how? With the difference in their names, she doubted they were Thorin’s sons, but with how similar they were, they had to be close relations. _Although I’ve always looked more like Estella Bolger than any of my other cousins, and she’s only my first cousin twice removed._ But Fíli did have Thorin’s eyes, and his nose, so… 

The merchant put his foot down. “I can’t go any lower; I’ll lose business!” Both boys began railing at him anew, and Bella rolled her eyes.

She listened for a few seconds, enough to hear how much the merchant wanted, counted out the amount, and put the coins on the counter in front of him. All three stopped dead and stared at her. “He was right, any lower would be a travesty, if it weren’t for the fact that we were also throwing in this pack in exchange for that soap behind you, and the needle and thread. Thank you for your generosity.” The merchant gave a nod, apparently awestruck at the number of coins before him. “Come along boys, I’ll need help packing all that.” After emptying her old pack into the new one and filling her arms with a reasonable fraction of the supplies, she walked calmly out of the shop and toward the Inn. She intentionally went slowly, waiting for the boys to catch up. 

Once she was almost to the door, they called for her to wait. She turned to see both boys positively laden with supplies, mostly because Kíli had taken it upon himself to carry all of the biggest items, that is, the bedroll, the pack, and a folded blanket, which left the smaller items to Fíli; both boys seemed to be having the same amount of trouble carrying their loads, and Bella decided to take pity on them.

“Alright, that’s far enough, I’ll come to you.” Laughing, she settled her load onto the ground in front of them and motioned for them to set their items down as well. They did so, looking puzzled, and she began loading the new pack. They were quick to assist her, telling her to refold this, put that there, this on top of it, and so on. Altogether, they finished much faster than she expected, and with only a few pieces of fruit and veg unable to fit. 

“We can put these in one of our packs.” Fíli offered, but Bella shook her head.

“No, give them to me, I haven't eaten yet today.” She took a carrot from his hands first and stuck it in her mouth while she figured out how to hold everything else. 

The rest of the Dwarves exited the Inn while she was doing so, and so saw as Kíli protested, “No, that’s raw, you ought to cut it—”

Bella chomped through it easily, and laughed at his expression, being careful not to spray bits of carrot everywhere. Gandalf joined in with her laughter, and she turned to see the rest of the Company watching, dumbstruck. She frowned, puzzled, at Gandalf, and he explained, still laughing, “Dwarves don’t have quite so sharp teeth as Hobbits, my dear. They can chew such things easily, but find them much harder to bite than Hobbits do.” She took a few more bites of carrot while the Dwarves started walking, finding it amusing how they would all jump at the sharp sound. Her good mood dropped a bit when they reached the ponies, and she nearly dropped her food along with it.

“Oh, Gandalf,” He turned at her disbelieving tone, “Please tell me that riding is optional.” The wizard only chuckled and turned to his mount. Bella’s shoulders fell at this, but she shook off the disappointment and set about trying to figure out how to get on a pony without dropping any food. She was thinking so seriously about this, as it happened, that she was quite taken off guard when two sets of hands simply lifted her up and set her on a pony. However, she wasn’t exactly surprised when she saw that the hands belonged to Kíli and Fíli. She also didn't complain when those same hands helped fasten her pack to the saddle in a way that somehow didn't overbalance the poor beast. Looking at the other ponies, though, she began to snicker a bit; the new pack that was so much bigger than her old one, that had looked so large in the store, was still not quite as big as the packs every Dwarf had. 

All too soon, the Dwarves were ready to depart and Bella’s pony followed them without any direction from Bella. By some stroke of luck, _or Dwarvish scheming_ , she ended up sandwiched between the two boys, who proceeded to snatch bits of food out of her arms when she wasn’t paying attention and toss them back and forth until she managed to snatch them out of the air. On the unfortunately common occurrence that she overbalanced and began to tip off the saddle, whichever boy she was leaning toward would catch her and push her gently upright. She was a bit annoyed the first few times this happened, until she realized that her balance was improving, slowly but surely, the longer they rode. The route they took turned out to take them back past Hobbiton. _But, of course, it was utterly important that I rush out to the Green Dragon, obviously._ Bella rolled her eyes and finished off the last bits of her elevenses, one piece of which she had to catch after Fíli tossed it, and succeeded in correcting her balance without any assistance when she began to tip. The boys cheered her so loudly that most of the Company turned to see what was going on, but Bella was laughing and blushing so thoroughly that she couldn't tell them to stop.

“Belladonna Baggins!” The familiar, irate voice would have ruined Bella’s day at any other time, but she was pleasantly full, feeling accomplished, and had two utterly ridiculous new friends, and so was in such a good mood that even Lobelia Sackville-Baggins couldn't ruin it. And so, she merely rolled her eyes at the boys, held up a finger at Gandalf and Thorin when they looked at her, and hopped easily off her pony to face her cousin.

“Hello Lobelia, such a good morning, don't you think?” At the sight of Bella’s wide grin, Lobelia’s scowl grew even fiercer. 

“Good!? How could it be good when I receive word that not only are you gallivanting off, unchaperoned, with a group of men, you’ve left Bag-End to PRIMULA?! And in TROUSERS, no less!”

Bella rolled her eyes, still grinning, and decided, for a few minutes, to forget propriety entirely. “Well, Lobelia, it would be good because not only have I made the acquaintance of thirteen people much more agreeable than yourself, with the Grey One himself as a chaperone, I won’t have to see you or your git of a husband get your utterly underserving hands on my father’s house!” With that, she turned and walked back to her pony, where Kíli was waiting with a smirk to lift her onto the saddle. Lobelia had been sputtering as she moved, but when Kíli actually put his hands on Bella’s waist, it sounded as though Lobelia actually stopped breathing for shock. When Bella looked, it turned out that might have been true, as she was turning more purple by the second. 

Thorin started his pony moving as Kíli mounted his, and Bella threw a quick smile to Lobelia as the movement filtered down the line to her. “And I’m not traveling with men,” She made sure to sound as innocent as was possible with an impish grin, “I’m traveling with Dwarves!” Luck was with her as she started moving just after those words, almost as though she’d planned it. For one last laugh, she tossed back, “In TROUSERS, no less!” With that, she started laughing so hard she could barely see, most of the Dwarves joining her, Fíli, Kíli, and Gandalf laughing hardest of all. Once she calmed down and Lobelia was no longer in sight, Bella leaned her head back happily to watch the leaves go by. She would have put her arms out, but she wasn’t quite confident enough in her riding skills. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to do that for years!” She sighed in utter contentment, and heard the boys laugh in response.

“She must have been terrible, indeed, to deserve that treatment.” 

Bella looked over at Kíli, who looked as though he was barely keeping himself from laughing again. “Oh, she’s a bothering, nagging, greedy, loudmouth who likes to act as though she isn’t three months younger than me, and who’s been lusting after Bag-End since she was born. In the last eight years, she’s tried to talk me into giving it to her eleven, no, twelve times! And stolen two full sets of cutlery!” The three of them began giggling again, this time helplessly, and Bella quickly realized that she was crying as much as laughing. 

“Mistress Baggins!” She looked over at Fíli to see genuine concern in his face, and looked ahead to see Bofur, the little -ri, and Balin watching her.

“No, I’m fine.” It was true. She was crying as more of a release than of grief. She was crying because she didn't have to deal with Lobelia, she didn't have to deal with the memories in Bag-End, she didn't have to be practically perfect in every way anymore. Whether or not she ever came back to the Shire, _probably not,_ she would never be trapped in a cycle again the way she had been. “I’m fine.” Her breathing calmed and she felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders, a weight she’d borne for so long that she’d forgotten she carried it. The little -ri still looked concerned, as did Kíli, but the others seemed to understand that she meant it, even if they didn't understand the emotion. Thorin was looking at her, too, now. She nodded at him soberly and he returned the gesture, the glower easing slightly as he turned around again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lobelia's one of a few characters whose ages are different from canon. Telling you which characters I've changed would include spoilers, so... :D   
> Also, in case you couldn't tell, I'm a sucker for a good confrontation scene. I leave it to you to decide whether this counts. (Fingers crossed it's, at the very least, somewhat funny)


	5. Gamekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin PoV galore!

That night, they camped just off the road, and Thorin watched the Halfling. After the scene with the woman he guessed was a relation of some sort, Mistress Baggins had seemed rejuvenated. When he first saw her, silhouetted by the open door, he’d guessed that she was close to his own age, if in Hobbit-years. The exhaustion and strain he saw in her fair face seemed only able to fit an older woman, especially as Gandalf insisted the Shire was among the most peaceful places in the world. But when she’d walked into the Inn, bold as brass in trousers that most of the Hobbit-men in the room had been unable to keep their eyes off of, she’d looked years younger. He had to admit, he’d had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her, as well. She was a tad broader than most Hobbits he’d seen, in an almost Dwarvish way, though she was still far more delicate than any Dwarrowdam. He’d almost grown accustomed to averting his eyes from her feet, as it seemed that Hobbits, as a rule, kept their legs and feet teasingly bare. Gandalf had informed the Company of the Hobbits’ oddities where hair was involved, but the reality had taken them all aback. Against his will, Thorin’s gaze was drawn to her ears again and again. They were just barely more pointed than the rest of the Hobbits he’d seen, but more natural looking than elf-ears, as well as surprisingly expressive, tilting down and perking up as purses flew to and fro behind her. By the way his nephews smiled at her, Thorin guessed he wasn’t the only one to notice her appearance. After the encounter with the apparent silver-thief, she’d seemed even younger.

He’d looked back after Gandalf nudged him, and seen that she was crying for some reason, but she said clearly that she was fine. When she met his eyes, he saw that she had been grieved over something, although she had hidden it so well that only the absence made it noticeable, and now that it was gone, it was obvious that she was the same age as his nephews. For an instant, he’d regretted bringing her, regretted the necessity of bringing anyone that young on a quest that should have been the burden of seasoned warriors, but he saw a sobriety in her eyes that his nephews didn't have. That Ori, Bombur, and Bofur didn't have either, as a matter of fact. The only places he’d seen that shadow were the eyes of the survivors of Erebor and Moria, or soldiers. Bofur came close, but it was still shallow, as it was only the fear for his cousin. He hadn't seen death or pain, not like those from Erebor, not like this Hobbit-lass. He’d turned away after returning her nod, and asked Gandalf about Hobbit-years. The wizard’s response made his blood run cold. This girl was hardly more than a child by Dwarf standards, and not much older as Hobbits go. What had she seen that would put that much darkness in her eyes? 

Now, he watched her from the other side of the camp as Fíli and Kíli gleefully explained everyone and their families; it seemed she hadn't quite caught everyone’s names last night, although she remembered a few. His nephews seemed to be trying to trip her up, going back and forth between families so quickly that even Thorin was having difficulty keeping up, but aside from a few mix-ups between Dain I and Dain II and the like, she was keeping up easily. Kíli realized this just after Thorin, and the sight of his nephew’s crestfallen face had him chuckling.

Gandalf had evidently been watching the same group as Thorin, as he leaned over with a smile. “Hobbits typically have six or seven children per family, and grow a little more quickly than Dwarves. It makes keeping track rather challenging.” Thorin’s eyes widened. _To be so blessed by Mahal!_ If he ever had children, he would be happy to bear two, and privileged to be gifted with three. The wizard sighed, watching the Hobbit. “Which is what was hard for poor Belladonna. She’s an only child.” Thorin felt an unexpected rush of sympathy for the girl. To be alone and surrounded by crowds would be… well, actually, it sounded something like how he had felt when he was made king, with his father, grandfather, grandmother, and brother gone at a blow. But he’d at least had Dís, and eventually her sons. Gandalf was frowning now, and staring at the Burglar as if she were a puzzle he could solve if he looked hard enough. He got out his pipe and puffed away, blowing a solitary ring. Alone… 

Thorin frowned, unintentionally matching the wizard’s expression. “What happened to her parents?” The Shire was peaceful, with large families, she was barely an adult, and she was alone; it didn't match up. Her comment the night before, that she didn't like to be reminded how big her home was, came back to him now. That would make sense if she missed her family, but it didn't answer the question of what became of them in the first place.

“I don’t know.” Tharkûn’s scowl deepened. “I have not been in the Shire for some thirty years, and return to find two of my friends dead and gone, and their daughter a shadow of what she was.” Gales of laughter pealed from over the fire; Kíli had apparently snuck behind the Halfling in order to empty a bucket of water on her, but had drenched his brother instead when the Hobbit caught sight of him and dodged. She had good reflexes, at least, and was now using them to keep out of the brothers’ reach as they chased her, all three laughing heartily. The wizard’s expression lightened as the trio ran behind the pair of them. “Although I think she may be improving.”

Catching a faint resolve in the Man’s face, Thorin asked, hiding his wariness, “Are you going to ask her about her family?”

The wizard puffed away at his pipe, still watching the Burglar. She was now hiding behind Bombur while Fíli and Kíli searched for her, holding a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud, and looking almost painfully young. Privately, Thorin thought that it would be kindest to ask her, if she had to be asked, in the morning, to give her as much time as possible to rebury what were undoubtably painful memories. “No,” Gandalf muttered. “I fear she hasn't been able to heal sufficiently. She needs more time.”

As the days went by, Thorin began to hope that Gandalf would never decide she’d had enough time. Despite acting as though she really were Thorin’s age in the mornings, the Burglar spent every day talking and laughing with his nephews, clearly leagues happier than the night they’d met. But even so, Thorin found himself trying to put the pieces together, and dreading the result: she had seen tragedy; she never referred to her parents by name, and flinched at her own; she was offended at the thought that she couldn't fight; the talk of evisceration didn't faze her, but she fainted at the mention of fire, and always stayed far away from the campfire; she always moved more stiffly in the morning if it rained in the night… 

At the last thought, Thorin unconsciously rubbed his side, where Azog had struck him. The wound had healed well, but the scar still troubled him sometimes, especially in the damp, on the same mornings that the Hobbit moved as if she were in pain. At first, Thorin had brushed it off as simply getting used to traveling, but the longer he watched her, the more convinced he became; she had scars, likely quite a few, old enough for her to ignore them most of the time, and he would have bet his grandfather’s crown that she gained them at the same time that she lost her parents. Tharkûn still seemed puzzled, and what words he exchanged with Thorin over the girl led Thorin to think that the wizard wasn’t even considering that violence may have been involved. All of his preoccupation over the girl was giving him strange dreams, as well, some of which were of her being threatened by the Defiler. Thorin shook his head. _Stress, that’s all. Stress and paranoia_. After all, Azog was long since dead.

But still, the next clue she gave them didn't come for over a fortnight, just after they had crossed into the Lone Lands. They had set up camp as usual, and the three youngest members of the Company had set aside the gloom of the journey to talk and laugh as they had every night thus far, although one night had derailed somewhat: a screech that Thorin had recognized as belonging to an eagle had echoed over the moors, and the two idiots had tried to convince her that it was an Orc. Although she had paled, she had raised an eyebrow and looked at them so unnervingly like their mother would have that they’d immediately apologized, and Thorin hadn’t needed to intercede. 

Now, Kíli was showing the Hobbit how to hold a bow, although she seemed more comfortable with the weapon than Thorin had expected, and, laughing as she prepared to loose an arrow, the boy had playfully tweaked her ear. In the same instant, the arrow flew off target, nearly hitting Nori, and the girl spun around and struck Kíli across the face so hard that the sound echoed over the hills and drew the attention of the full Company. Ears tilted sharply back, she was staring at him, almost shaking in her intensity, and seemed unable to speak for a long moment. 

When she did speak, her voice was low, furious, and shaking even more than her breath. “In the Shire I would be well within my rights to kick you hard enough to ensure your family tree ended with you. As you are not a Hobbit, I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you didn't know what that meant.” Her voice, somewhat controlled until now, dove into a snarl with her next words. “But for future reference, if you _ever_ touch my ears again, I will not hesitate to castrate you.” Her voice rose to fill the camp. “Or anyone else.” She turned and walked away from the camp, spine held stiffly. Kíli was still standing where he had been, utterly shocked, and utterly perplexed. 

Gandalf began to rise, but Thorin waved him down. “This concerns my Company, my sister-son, and my Burglar. I’ll deal with it.” The wizard frowned, but remained sitting while Thorin followed the girl. It was a couple minutes before he heard her, the sound coming from a cluster of huge rocks a dozen yards or so ahead. 

As he grew closer, he realized she was sobbing, or trying not to, at any rate. Just before he rounded the boulder, he heard her growl squeakily through her tears, “Fool of a Took, stop crying! He didn't even mean it!” She jumped as Thorin came into view, then leaned her head back against the rock with a sigh, eyes closed, giving him a clear view of her flushed, tear-stained face in the moonlight. Unsure exactly what to do, he waited where he was until she met his eyes and spoke. “Are you here to yell at me for almost killing Nori? Because that was unintentional, I swear.”

Thorin shook his head. “No.” He hesitated, then walked to a stone across from hers and leaned against it, mimicking her pose. “I’m here to ask exactly what it was my nephew did to deserve that.”

Her eyes darkened for a moment, then she flushed to her now-drooping ears and looked away from him. She didn't respond for a few moments, but Thorin waited. She didn't seem to be stalling, only trying to find the words. “Ea… For Hobbits…” Her voice was so soft that Thorin almost couldn't hear her. She cleared her throat, then looked back at him guardedly. “If someone, a stranger, went up to your sister and kissed her when she clearly didn't want him to, what would you do?” 

A cold rage raced through Thorin’s veins at the image, quickly followed by shock. “That’s what touching your ears amounts to?” He wasn’t sure how to react to that, but she nodded awkwardly.

“With Hobbits, ears are private. Even betrothed can’t touch each other’s ears until the wedding, and then only in private. In public, even if they’re married, that would be…” She gaped for a moment, struggling to find a way to explain. “That would be like… like undressing in public.” Her voice was hushed, as though she were discussing something forbidden, _or exceptionally rude,_ and she flushed again as he watched her. 

He averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “I’ll warn the others, then, and tell them not to mention…” Unable to finish, he cleared his throat again, but was surprised when she stifled a weak snicker.

“Ear isn't a dirty word.” She was smiling faintly as he looked back, eyes twinkling with some private joke and ears almost back to their normal angle. “It would be a bit rude to stare, or gossip about them, but they do tend to be somewhat visible; it would be rather difficult to completely ignore them.”

“So what would you have us do?”

She thought for a moment. _Is she humming?_ “Treat my ears as though they were my nose, or mouth, or…” She gestured vaguely to her rather ample chest, blushing. “Don’t treat me like a fragile little sculpture, but don't ogle me.” Her eyes darkened at her last words, and Thorin tilted his head thoughtfully. The intensity there seemed to speak of experience in a way that her words of fragility didn’t. 

He nodded, and began to head back to camp, but stopped. “If you’re out here for longer than five minutes, I’m going to send Dwalin to join you; you don't have any weapons, and even as close to the Shire as we are, these lands are still dangerous.” She had started to interrupt, but fell silent when he pointed out that she was unarmed. Although she turned away partially to wipe at her cheeks, she nodded, and Thorin continued down to the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present the beginnings OF... *drumroll*... BACKSTORY FORESHADOWING! Although really, I started a couple chapters ago, but whatever. Also, can you foreshadow backstory? Seems like a contradiction, but, again, whatever.   
> Some of you may have noticed the extra family member listed. Yeah, she died not long before her husband. Those of you who didn't pick up on it, if anyone didn't, have fun finding it! *evil grin*  
> And fi-- HOLY CRAP I FORGOT TO LIST AGES YESTERDAY I'M SO SOR-- *clears throat awkwardly* Yeah, sorry about that. So... yeah. Here goes, iiinnnn... descending order? Yeah? Yeah.   
> Balin (238, looks older); Oin (225, looks older); Dori (214, looks older); Bifur (196, looks a little older but not as much as the others); Gloin (193, looks a little younger); Dwalin (188, looks younger); Thorin (186, looks youn-- know what? everyone else looks younger unless I say otherwise); Bombur (179); Nori (170); Bofur (164); Ori (123); Fíli (73, looks and effectively is nearly 28); Kíli (68, looksandeffectivelyis 26 1/2); Bella (41, looksandeffectivelyis 26 1/4); and no, I don't care if that's not how old they look in the movie. My story, my rules.  
> And *finally*, sorry about the slight tbc, it was unintentional, I promise. At least you only have to wait a day? The next chapter's also Thorin's PoV, and then it's going to switch between them semi-often. Hope you enjoy!


	6. Ges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ear Debacle Part 2; now in theaters near you!

When Thorin arrived at the camp, most of the Company swarmed him, questioning him on what she had done, why she had done it, whether she had overreacted, ‘all he did was pinch her, why’d she have to do that?’. The exceptions to this were Balin, waiting patiently with Gandalf, Oin, who likely hadn't heard any of what she’d said, and Kíli. He was sitting in the same place he’d stood earlier, and appeared so lost that Thorin didn't doubt he was unaware of the change in position. With a wave, Thorin quieted the group and sat before Kíli, who looked at him blankly.

“I don’t understand. I thought we were friends.” His nephew sounded broken. 

Thorin sighed. “You are. But to Hobbits…” How to make him understand? Kissing wouldn't be strong enough wording to a Dwarf as young as Kíli. “To Hobbits, touching someone’s ear would be like touching their beard.” Kíli’s eyes widened, and Thorin could hear gasps from the rest of the Company. “What you did was the equivalent of putting your hands in a Dwarrowdam’s beard and winding it through your fingers.”

“Uncle!” Kíli looked scandalized, and Fíli, standing behind him, was just as garnet-red as his brother. Both of them looked sick, which was what Thorin had been aiming for. He could remember two occasions when their mother had given over-eager suitors a few new scars, _and much shorter beards,_ for that precise indecency. He’d been livid, but she had dealt with them swiftly and thoroughly, and fighting them after that would have been an insult to her.

Thorin stood to address the full Company. “From now on, that is how she is to be treated. She may not be a Dwarf, but her ears will be given the same respect as if they were her beard. If any of you touch them without her consent, she will undoubtably follow through on her threat, and if she is unarmed at the time, she will have my sword to do with as she will. Is that clear?” Everyone except Gandalf answered quickly. 

When Thorin went to him, the wizard nodded gravely. “Very clear. Well done, Master Oakenshield.” Thorin grunted. He kept track of the time carefully, but caught movement out of the corner of his eye after a little over four minutes. The Hobbit entered the camp gingerly, and circled the fire in order to stay on the other side of it from Kíli. As Thorin and his nephews watched, she gathered up her bedroll and moved it from beside Fíli and Kíli’s to instead settle it between Thorin and Ori’s. Thorin’s eyes widened at that. If she were a Dwarf, that would be a plea for them to protect her. In fact, that was why Ori was so near to Thorin; that way, when one of his brothers was on watch, he still had two of the strongest fighters in the Company beside him. As she was a Hobbit, Thorin knew, intellectually, that she was simply trying to get as far from Kíli as she could without sleeping beside the more intimidating members of the Company, but as he watched her, Thorin decided, without really realizing it himself, that whether she meant to ask for his protection or not, she would have it, to the best of his ability. 

He caught a motion from the other side of the camp: Kíli had drawn his knife. _What is he doing?_ As his sister-son made his way to the Halfling, dagger held loosely in his hand, Thorin stood. But he stopped as, a few feet away from her, Kíli dropped to his knees, head hanging, and offered the blade hilt-first toward her. She stared at it, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“To a Dwarf, our hair is our honor.” Her gaze shifted to Thorin, still shocked, but beginning to understand. “He’s inviting you to take as much of his as you wish.” 

Fíli approached the two. “With how deeply he dishonored you, you’re entitled to take all of it.” In the firelight, Thorin saw her eyes widen as she realized just how seriously this would lower Kíli. She stared at the knife for a long moment before her face hardened and she took it from his hand. The entire Company was watching her now with bated breath. She stepped to Kíli’s side and… parted his hair? She moved and blocked Thorin’s view, but he heard the shock ripple through the Dwarves. She stepped away to reveal she’d cut… nothing? She dropped the dagger and a lock of hair in front of Kíli, then moved to Bombur to retrieve another helping of food. As Thorin watched, Kíli rearranged his hair, and pulled a shorter section out from beneath the thick waves, barely a finger-width of hair, and only two inches or so shorter than the rest of his hair. Kíli met Thorin’s gaze, and Thorin saw the same confusion in his eyes as he knew was in his own. 

That night, Thorin was woken suddenly. He grabbed his sword, sure that there was a threat lurking, but saw nothing. A small, near inaudible noise drew his eyes to the Burglar. She was asleep, but pale and tense, ears twisted back far enough to be painful, to Thorin’s eyes. While he watched, she jerked almost imperceptibly and made the noise again; a whimper, Thorin realized. As quietly as he could, he went to her side, glancing over the camp as he did; no one else was awake except Dwalin, sitting watch on the other side of camp as he usually did and facing in the other direction. She whimpered again as he knelt by her, and curled into herself. For a few seconds, Thorin simply watched her, with no idea what to do. If he shook her, she’d probably be even more distressed. If he said anything, he’d likely wake up Dori and Nori, at least, and he doubted she wanted any more spectators than necessary. In the end, he touched her hair softly, making sure not to touch her forehead or ears, and she immediately relaxed. Thorin blinked. That… had gone much more smoothly than he’d expected. He’d half-thought that she would scream or attack him. After sitting with her for a few minutes to be sure that the nightmare had fled, he retrieved one of his extra blankets and tucked it around her. She latched onto it with a soft smile, and Thorin went back to his bedroll, to dreams of her smiling and playing with another Hobbit-lass.

The next morning, Fíli went to the Hobbit as she packed her bedroll. Thorin was watching to see if she realized she had an extra blanket, and so saw his nephew approach. “Mistress Baggins, my brother and I are unsure why you would treat him so mercifully.” The girl looked almost disbelieving at Fíli’s hesitant, formal tone, then her eyes shifted to somewhere behind him. Following her gaze, Thorin realized that Kíli was waiting by the ponies, rather panicked at being seen. Before he could retreat, the Halfling rose and walked steadily toward him. It was amusing, or would have been without context, to see a decently sized Dwarf so afraid of a young woman whose head didn't even come to the level of his chin. After stopping a couple of feet away from him, she regarded him with an altogether unreadable expression. Then she spoke, so quietly that Thorin could hardly hear her.

“I cut so little because I know that you didn't mean to do what you did. You don’t need to be humiliated in front of all your people because of a mistake that would've been innocent to Dwarves or Men. But I cut off some because I want you to remember.” Kíli’s face fell, but her next words stopped him. “I want you to learn and move on. If you do it again, intentionally, I’ll cut off a lot more than that, but,” She smiled softly at him. “For now, I’d like my friend to know that I forgive him, even if I’ll need a little while to trust him again.” Kíli looked awestruck. Thorin probably looked the same, as Gandalf began chuckling at him. 

She didn't ask Kíli to help her onto her pony, and he didn't offer, but she let Fíli give her a boost. The rest of the day passed calmly, although various members of the Company took turns riding with her and getting to know the _incredible_ young woman. That night, she and Balin were still speaking when they made camp. They’d been discussing folktales of their people for hours, and she laughed every so often at something she found especially ridiculous: “You can’t be serious! He actually used a stale piece of bread?” “Aye, lassie. And killed fifty-seven trolls with it.”. Thorin was rather annoyed to find himself thinking that her laugh sounded like bells. _She’s practically a child, for Mahal’s sake!_

More often than not, the things that she found ridiculous were to do with money, while what confounded Balin was her total lack of interest in it. Once they’d made camp, Balin ended up recruiting Ori to record his discussion with the Burglar, which lasted until nearly midnight and only ended when Dori dragged Ori away to sleep. For the next week, this continued, with the Company conversing with her as they rode, and Balin often discussing Hobbit culture with her while Ori recorded it all after they settled for the night. Even after the rain began and the Hobbit’s mood dropped along with her ears, the Company’s stories still brought a smile to her face, although her laughter became rare, and her nightmares became common. Each time Thorin heard her, sometimes two or three times a night, he touched her hair or her arm through the blanket and sat with her until she calmed. One of the few times she laughed was, in fact, while they were riding in the rain. Dori had called for the wizard to end the rain, and Gandalf had snapped that they should find another wizard, then.

“Are there any?” The Halfling had sounded curious, and Tharkûn had responded easily.

“Other wizards? Four. The greatest of our order is Saruman, the White. Then there are the Blue wizards… I’ve quite forgotten their names. The Fifth of us is Radagast, the Brown.”

Thorin had glanced back, reassuring himself that his nephews looked well, and caught the Burglar’s expression out of the corner of his eye. She looked carefully innocent, with a quirk in her mouth that spoke of mischief. “Is he a Great Wizard, then? Or more like you?” Thorin had turned away quickly, before she could see him smile at her insolence. Gandalf had sputtered out an answer, sounding very offended, and she laughed, lightly, but happily. _Silver bells? No, maybe gold, or— stop it!_ She had apologized later that night, saying that she was only teasing, but Thorin wasn’t sure he believed her. After Tharkûn accepted her apology and she’d turned away from him, she had a tired air that seemed to carry some of the grief that she’d left behind before, and a flash of anger, too. Altogether, Thorin wasn’t sure what to make of her. But he was sure that even after she eventually moved her bedroll back by Fíli and Kíli, _she will, I know she will, she should be with people her age, but Mahal, does she have to?,_ he would still protect her if he could. He’d made a promise, even if it was unspoken, and he was going to fulfill it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, long-winded explanation that would've messed with the flow of the chapter: Thorin's pretty accurate here, but Bella's explanation... not so much. Hobbit ears are extremely sensitive, but context is required. A stranger touching them is not going to feel the same as family or a spouse touching them, and casual touching is different from... shall we say marital? All in all, it's not so much like Kíli kissed her without her permission, it's more like he groped her without her permission. What Thorin's describing would be pretty much the same, with two cultural differences: Dwarrow wouldn't let a stranger get that close in the first place, and Hobbits are pretty much defenseless against assault. A Dwarrowdam who was assaulted like this would probably know her attacker, and unless it wasn't the first time, he would basically get off with a warning, because now everyone knows what scum he is. A Hobbit, however, would almost definitely know her attacker, just because he'd probably be a Hobbit, too, and since they're peaceful, for the most part, she would absolutely be right to 'end his family tree', to paraphrase Bella, in order to keep the initial assault the only assault. By Dwarrow standards, Kíli's offer was unexpected, and a sign of how horrible he feels; by Hobbit standards, Bella's being unbelievably merciful. And really, the vice versa applies, too. And that had pretty much nothing to do with this chapter, did it. Oh, well. Hope the reconciliation was satisfactory! Oh, and let me know if I need to add a trigger warning or anything, I have a terrible sense for that kind of thing. I feel like I don't need one just because of the cultural difference, but...  
> Moving on, if you spotted the Terry Pratchett reference, you get a cookie! Granted, it's so not subtle, but still.


	7. Haded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *sing-song* I knew you were trouble when you walked iiinnnn... so shame on me na- oow, took me to places I've never bee-eeen, now we're lyin' on the cold, hard ground. *trolls screaming*

Bella looked over the farmhouse critically. It looked as though it were going to fall over if they camped too near it, but who was she to say? Thorin’s voice rose behind her. _By the Queen, what are they fighting about now?_ She’d been catching him and Gandalf arguing more often today, especially when the wizard gestured ahead, but they always stopped before she got close enough to hear. _Case in point…_  

“Everything alright?” Gandalf ignored her and stomped off. “Gandalf, where are you going?”

“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense!” 

Bella raised an eyebrow. “And who’s that, then?”

“Myself, Miss Baggins! I’ve enough of Dwarves for one day.” Bella’s jaw clenched as the wizard continued to stalk away.

“Only one with any sense, my big, hairy foot,” She muttered, heading back to Bombur to help with the food. “I’ve at least got enough sense not to march off like a toddler because someone disagrees with me.” Thorin huffed as she passed him, and she thought she caught the edge of a smile before he turned fully away. She blushed, but decided to keep her griping internal from now on. As she helped Bomber prepare the soup, her thoughts drifted to Thorin. Her eyes almost followed, but she managed to keep those, at least on her task. 

He was… odd. He’d been dismissive when they met, but then listened patiently as she fumbled through her explanation for hitting Kíli. He was much older than her, nearly a hundred and ninety, if Fíli and Kíli were to be believed, but didn't look it. If she’d had to guess that first night, she would have said he was fifty, perhaps fifty-nine or sixty with those silver streaks in his hair. He seemed so stern most of the time, but then she would catch him smiling at his nephews, even if the small expression never lasted more than a few seconds. And, most of all, she had expected him to make her move after her nightmare the night she’d hit Kíli, but he hadn’t. Actually, Bella wasn’t sure, but she thought his bedroll might be a little closer to hers now than a week ago, but she might have been imagining it. And her nightmares had actually improved since she started sleeping near him. She still had them, a little more often than when she slept by the boys, but they seemed to end almost as soon as they began, and morph into flashes of mountains and forests and sunsets. _Maybe Ori’s doing something?_ She wasn’t sure. Ori was sweet, but so earnest that she thought he would have said something if he knew about her dreams. Thorin seemed introspective enough that he’d probably keep quiet about it, but was he kind enough to help her? And if he was, how was he doing it? In those first nights at Bag-End, Primula and Mirabella had only made things worse when they tried to help, but now a Dwarf she hardly knew was doing better than her own family? It made no sense.

Later, after Bella had eaten, Bofur came up to her with two bowls. “Here, do us a favor and take these to the lads.” Bella nodded with a smile. _Anything to take my mind off of King Broodyface McMajestic_. As she walked away, she heard Bofur chide Bombur, saying he’d already had enough food. _You have my sympathies, you really do_. She’d been tightening her belt, metaphorically, since the day after she cut Kíli’s hair. That was when she’d realized that the Dwarves had barely brought enough food for themselves, let alone a fully grown Hobbit. When she was the one serving the food, she usually gave herself a tiny bit more than the others, but when she was handed her serving, she took it without complaint, and without asking for seconds anymore. _Thank Yavanna for campside snacks_. She found the boys easily, but they seemed distracted by something. She set the bowls down, then silently joined them.

“What’s going on?” The two jumped and Kíli, especially, looked at her like he thought she had a knife on him.

“N-Nothing.” Bella said nothing, only raising one eyebrow as she looked at Kíli.

Fíli interjected, “Really, Mistress Baggins, you don’t need to worry about it.”

Bella huffed. “Fíli, how many times? Bella. And if my name makes you that uncomfortable, Miss Baggins. ‘Mistress’ makes me sound positively middle-aged. And if the sons of Dìs are this worried, then I rather think I need to be, as well.” 

Fíli looked hesitant for a moment, then Kíli elbowed him and said quietly, “We’re supposed to be looking out for the ponies.”

“Only we’ve encountered a slight problem.” 

“We had sixteen.”

“Now there’s fourteen.” The two boys shared identical troubled expressions as they finished, and Bella thought, not for the first time, _if I didn't know Fíli was five years the elder, I’d think they really were twins._  

“Well,” Bella swallowed. Anything big enough to snatch two ponies was worrying, indeed. “That’s not good. Shouldn't we tell Thorin?”

“No!” Kíli was the one who had yelped, but they were both clearly terrified of the thought. 

“Well, something big uprooted those trees.” She gestured ahead, and Fíli followed the motion past where she’d looked.

“Hey! There’s a light!” Bella looked and saw the dot in the distance, and moved towards it before the boys knew she’d started. “Bel— Miss Baggins!” They followed, clomping footsteps a few feet behind her, although they were probably trying to be quiet. Soon enough, she hid behind a tree and waited for them to catch up. The sound of harsh laughter sent chills through her.

“What is it?” 

Kíli didn't answer for a moment, likely trying to figure out how she’d known he was behind her. “Trolls.” The boys knelt on either side of her as she tried to think. All three of them ducked lower as a troll, twelve or thirteen feet tall, passed by, carrying a pony under each arm.

Once he was out of earshot, Bella hissed, “We have to do something. He’s got Myrtle.”

Fíli looked at her askance. “Myrtle?”

“What?” Bella narrowed her eyes at him. “She’s one of my favorite cousins. Can you think of a better name?” She went back to watching the trolls, but felt him shrug from beside her.

Kíli nodded. “You’re right. You go get Thorin, we’ll try and distract them.”

“Or, just a thought, you get Thorin and, seeing as how I am the Company Burglar, I’ll go and see if I can get the ponies out.” Simultaneously, they turned to her, horrified. 

“No!” Fíli glanced toward the trolls with a wince, then lowered his voice. “You can’t go in alone. Thorin would kill us!”

Bella stifled a scoff. _I seriously doubt he’s as attached to me as that._ “Well, that’s easily remedied.”

They turned to her, Fíli doubtful, Kíli hopeful. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yes. Just tell him I didn't give you a choice!” Quick as she could, she darted past them, grabbing one of Kíli’s daggers as she did, flashed a quick grin at them, and began creeping toward the fire. Faintly, she heard Kíli order Fíli to get Thorin, ‘and hurry!’, but she focused on her destination. As soon as she turned away, she’d let the smile drop. She’d never seen mountain-trolls before, but they sent chills down her spine. She did her best to block out their voices, and succeeded until one of them, the cook, spoke again.

“Well, horse is better than the leathery old farmer.” Bella froze. “All skin and bone, he was. I’m still picking bits of him out of my teeth.” Steeling herself, she crept forward again, wishing the dagger was a little smaller. Every time the Trolls looked her way, she stopped moving until they looked away. It took several minutes for her to reach the horses, but she did, Trolls none the wiser. As silently as she could, she began cutting through the ropes holding together the ponies’ pen. She’d almost finished when her luck ran out.

“What’s this, then?” A huge hand grabbed her roughly, lifting her effortlessly, and surprising her enough that she dropped the knife. She thought she heard a dismayed cry in the distance, but hoped it wasn’t who she thought it was. The Troll gripping her held her up for the other two to examine. _What I wouldn't give for a piece of old bread_.

One of them, not the cook, poked her in the midsection. “What are you, then? An oversized squirrel?”

 _Squirrel, indeed!_ “I’m a bur— a Hobbit!” She’d answered before she thought, and hoped they hadn't caught the mistake. As dim as they seemed, it would be just her luck for them to take offense at being burgled.

“A burrahobbit?” The one holding her sounded dimmer than the others, but the cook was now looking at her suspiciously. The other one grabbed for Bella, saying “Can we cook ‘im?” But the dim one tried to dodge him and dropped her. The impact knocked the breath out of her, but she got to her feet and ran for the dagger anyway. Just before she reached it, she was grabbed again, this time by her feet and by the cook. 

“Gotcha!” He looked at her intently. “Are there any more of you… Burrahobbits hiding around here?” On the word ‘burrahobbit’, his tone became distinctly dubious. _Of course._

“Nope!” As soon as she’d responded, Bella winced. _Too much cheer, not enough fear._  

As if to confirm this, the cook scoffed while the dim one chimed in, “He’s lying.”

“No, I’m not!” _Too desperate! Why can’t I think before I speak anymore?_

“Hold his toes over the fire,” Bella paled. “Make ‘im squeal!” Rustling leaves and a grunt were all the warning Bella got before the dim one screeched and jumped back, just in the right spot for Kíli to slice at him again.

“Drop her!” Even upside down, Bella could see the anger and fear in Kíli’s face, matching the emotion in his voice.

The other Troll only said, “You what?” _Maybe the dim one isn't the stupidest after all._

“I said,” Kíli spun his sword and tightened his hold on it. “Drop her.”  For a second, he glared at the Trolls challengingly, _idiot_ , before the cook threw Bella at him. He barely managed to drop his sword in time to catch her, and as they fell, Bella saw Thorin jump over them, yelling, followed by the rest of the Company. “Are you alright?” Kíli’s worried face distracted her from the ensuing fight, and she pushed at him to get off her.

“Fine, now go help them!” He nodded and went off and Bella grabbed a few arrows from his quiver as he did, _why couldn't I have ever learned to use a sword_ , then picked up his bow from where it had fallen. Nocking an arrow, she could barely aim with how the Trolls were jumping around as they fought. Even so, she landed one in the dim one and the stupid one each, and two in the cook before she ran out. Catching sight of the ponies, she felt a rush of sympathy for them. _Not their fault. Besides, if we lose any, it’ll cost us weeks._ Carefully, she crept around to the pen, _definitely not ogling Thorin and Kíli’s fighting, not at all_ , and cut through the last few strands with Kíli’s dagger. The ponies rushed out a little closer than she’d expected, and she stumbled back, only to be grabbed, once again. 

This time, the cook and the dim one both held her, each taking an arm and a leg. She struggled, ignoring the way their grips tightened, until Thorin looked up. He stepped toward her, eyes wide.

Kíli darted forward. “Bella!”

“No!” Thorin’s voice was raw as he held Kíli back, and Bella struggled harder, now fighting not to shriek as the Trolls pulled her limbs. 

The stupid one ordered, “Lay down your arms, or we’ll rip his off!” Frantically, Bella shook her head, afraid to open her mouth in case she screamed, and tried to hold Thorin’s gaze. _No, nonono, don’t you dare—_ Thorin’s expression darkened, and he planted his sword in the ground next to him. The others followed, Kíli last of all, looking like he was about to cry. The Trolls holding her ordered the dim one to put the Dwarves in sacks, and kept a tight grip on Bella until all thirteen were trussed up like geese; then they stuffed her in a sack, too, and tossed her onto the hill next to Thorin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a TSwift fan, but the goat video is fantastic. When she says fifty or sixty, BTW, that would be the equivalent of 30-35 for humans. Also, Gandalf, you recruited Bella for a reason, stop acting like you're the only person with a brain in Middle-Earth, and book!Bilbo, stop introducing yourself to things that want to eat you, please.  
> Aanndddd, yeah. Kíli hasn't forgotten that whole 'incident' yet, and he's not about to anytime soon. Can you blame him for being a little jumpy?  
> Next chapter next week. *evil grin* Have fun waiting! Although you already know how it ends, but still.
> 
> Oh, and if I ever miss an update, it's just 'cause I forgot. Ask about it in the comments or something and I'll have it up by the next day.


	8. Gimon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frying pan, fire, you know the drill.

Bella stayed silent while the Trolls tied Dwalin, Bofur, Dori, Nori, and Ori onto a huge spit, then growled, “You should’ve kept fighting.”

Thorin growled back, “They would’ve killed you.”

“Who cares!” He looked shocked at her snapped retort, and something else she couldn't put a finger on. She turned back to watch the Trolls, face stony. “Now we’re all going to die.” 

“…ind the seasoning; we ain’t got all night! Dawn ain’t far away, so let’s get a move on. I don't fancy being turned to stone.” The last was said so quietly that Bella wasn’t sure anyone but herself and perhaps the dwarves on the spit heard it. _… wait. Could that— that could work!_ With some difficulty, Bella squirmed her way to the foot of the pile and stood. 

“You’re doing that all wrong, you know.” Hopping forward a little, Bella let her tone even out into that of friendly advice. “Don’t you know the secret to cooking Dwarves?” 

The dim and stupid ones scoffed, but the cook swatted them and watched Bella carefully. “Shut up and let the flurgaburburrahobbit speak.” 

At his wary tone, Bella flashed him a bright smile, and confided, “Well, you see, the secret is to skin them first!” The dwarves all began yelling at that, but Bella ignored them. “Gets rid of all that nasty hair and all. Of course you have to get rid of all their clothes beforehand, but believe me, it’s well worth the trouble.”

“And what would a little thing like you know about cooking Dwarf?” The cook was still leery, but the other two looked intrigued.

Bella shrugged modestly, making sure not to let the bag fall from her shoulders. _That wouldn't win me any favors_. “A girl’s got to eat somehow. And what better way to go grocery shopping than to convince your food to ‘please, save me, mister Dwarf’,” She added mockingly. Some of the dwarves on the spit looked as though they’d caught on, but most of the others behind her were still yelling insults. “‘Oh, please, go take a bath, mister Dwarf, I’d appreciate it ever so much. Do me a favor and build up a nice big fire, mister Dwarf, I don’t know how!’ Most of the time,” Bella laughed, “They just truss themselves up when I ask! A herd this big would've lasted me months, but…” Delicately, she let her voice drift into a regretful sigh.

The cook was beginning to look interested. “But what?” _What was that behind him? It looked… Grey._

Bella started, “Well,” She held the hesitant pose for a moment, ignoring the still-yelling voices behind her, before glancing at the Trolls as though she’d decided to let them in on a secret. “It’s that lot, you see.” She nodded to the dwarves on the spit, keeping her expression confiding. “They’ve got worms. Parasites. It’s really quite disgusting, I’ve been listening to them complain about it for days.” She let her gaze drift to them. “It’s a shame, really. A couple of them look delicious.”

“So what would you recommend?” The cook now looked fascinated, but the stupid one was beginning to doubt her. _Better make it interesting._

“Well, for starters, I’d leave the young ones for last, they tend to be more mealy,” _Hurry up, Gandalf, I can’t hold Stupid for long!_ “But let the fat one” _Sorry, Bombur_ , “lose a bit of weight first. Dwarves are so tender on their own that you don’t need the fat to improve the flavor!” A fresh chorus of protests rose behind her, and she sighed, ducking her head and using the motion to hide her face as she exaggeratedly frowned at the pile of Dwarves. Thorin met her eyes and kicked Kíli. As she faced the Trolls again, the Dwarves began to yell ‘I’m the mealiest, you wouldn't believe how mealy I am!’, and ‘don’t listen to her, the fat ones are the most tender’, _idiots_ , and she smiled at the light beginning to spread over the trees, but kept her eyes on the Trolls. 

The stupid one walked over to her, snarling, “You think I don't know what you’re up to?” He swatted her hard enough on her shoulder to send her falling back onto the pile, although she swore her feet left the ground for a moment. “This little ferret is taking us for fools!”

“Ferret?” Bella gasped out, struggling to her feet again. “I am not a ferret!”

“Fools?” As the cook spoke, Gandalf suddenly rose on top of a rock across the clearing.

“The dawn take you all!” With that, the wizard struck the boulder he stood on with his staff and it split, letting the sunlight strike the Trolls. The three writhed in agony, but soon enough were solid stone.

Happily, Bella stated, “I’m a flurgaburburrahobbit,” then shimmied her shoulders painfully free of the sack and let it fall to the ground. Wiping her sweaty hands on her trousers, she turned and went back to the cheering Dwarves. She knelt by Fíli, who’d ended up face-down on the ground at some point. “Oh, stay still, why don’t you?” After a moment, she’d loosened the ties enough for him to pull himself free while she moved on to the next Dwarf. Neither he nor Fíli helped her untie the rest, and she glanced back to see them working on getting the others off of the spit without roasting them. With a smile, she turned back to her task. When she untied Kíli, as soon as his arms were free, he pulled her into a tight hug.

“I thought you were going to die.” After a surprised hesitation, Bella smiled and returned the embrace, ignoring the pain in her shoulder.

“Me too,” she whispered, then pulled back with a smile. “But I’m fine now. Go and help your brother.” She nodded in Fíli’s direction, and Kíli obeyed with a grin. Chuckling a bit, she found herself smiling fondly as she untied the rest, until, at last, she came to Thorin. Her smile faded, but the warmth lingered in her voice. “Thank you for the help. I wasn’t sure they were ever going to catch on.” She met his eyes to see him looking her over, one corner of his mouth turned up slightly. As she met his eyes, nearly turquoise in the sunlight, her heart beat a little faster, although she wasn’t sure why.

“I think, perhaps, you would have managed.” His eyes skipped to her shoulder, where the stupid one had hit her. He frowned, _there he goes. I’m surprised he could even go so long without looking stern_ , and ordered, “Have Oin look that over before he gets distracted.” Majestically, _because of course_ , he pulled the sack the rest of the way off and joined the others. Groaning a little at how she ached all over, Bella turned and propped herself on her elbows, laying on the hill to watch the Dwarves move around the clearing, gathering up weapons and such. 

 _How does he even do that, anyway? It shouldn't even be possible to be majestic while you take off a sack._ As he went past the cook-statue, Thorin stopped and stared at an arrow that was still sticking out of its arm. After a quick glance at Kíli, he looked at Bella, and she gave him a weak salute with the arm that felt least like it was about to fall off. He kept looking at her for a few seconds, until Gandalf passed by him, knocking on the dim-statue with his staff. Thorin looked at her again, oddly, then followed the wizard. Sighing, Bella leaned back to lie fully on the hill, closed her eyes, and listened to the Dwarves rummage around the campsite. When Kíli began complaining that the Trolls made him lose some of his arrows, she chuckled, but didn't say anything. _Technically, it_ _was_ _because of the Trolls_. 

After a few minutes, Thorin commanded _seriously, how does he even_ _sound_ _majestic?_ the Company to look for a cave. Resignedly, Bella opened her eyes as Nori began to complain about the stench. _Try being held by one of them_. The Dwarves filtered out of the cave as she watched, but they didn't seem in a hurry to leave yet, so she decided to stay reclining for a few more minutes. Gandalf stopped in front of her and held out a sheathed sword.

“Here. This is about your size.”

She sat up and took it carefully, drawing it out a few inches, then looked sharply at the wizard. “This is an Elven blade.” She drew it fully and turned it over. It was filthy, and covered in dirt, but there was no rust on the blade or the hilt.

“Yes, it is.” He sounded distracted by something, and she was about to look up at the wizard, but Thorin’s shout diverted both of them.

“Something’s coming!” Gandalf tossed one more unreadable glance at Bella, then followed the Dwarves to their leader. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Bella pushed herself up, and ran to follow them, ignoring the ache in her legs. Even so, it took a minute for her to catch up, just as a short, mad-looking fellow in all brown apologized to Gandalf.

“Try a bit of Old Toby. It’ll help settle your nerves.” Stopping next to the boys while Gandalf offered the crusty man his pipe, she asked quietly, “Who’s this?”

Kíli leaned over a little and lowered his voice. “Radagast the Brown.” The three of them watched the wizards for a moment. “He’s certainly great ‘in his own way’.” Bella smacked Kíli on the arm and ignored his ‘oi!’.

A howl sounded, and Bella flinched at how near it was. “Wargs,” she breathed, suddenly breathless. Thorin looked at her oddly, and a growl from behind her made her pale. A warg leapt into the clearing and Thorin cut it down swiftly. Another warg appeared behind them, and Kíli shot it, bringing it down for Dwalin to finish off.

“Warg-Scouts.” Thorin said the words like a curse, voice rough. “Which means an Orc pack is not far behind.” Bella felt herself begin to shake, but it seemed disconnected from her repeating thoughts. _No, not now, not here, not them_ —

“Who did you tell about your quest?” Gandalf’s voice, distant as it was, sounded angry; he amended the question a moment later. “Beyond your kin.”

“No one.” Thorin’s statement was almost inaudible.

“Who did you tell!?” Bella flinched at the harsh tone, and came back into herself.

“No one, I swear!” _Funny, he sounds almost as scared as I am_. “What in Durin’s name is going on?” Thorin’s voice was intense, but there was still a flicker of fear in his eyes.

“You are being hunted.” Bella’s knees wobbled, but she planted her feet and held her sword tightly. _No. Not going to faint, not going to be weak._

Dwalin spoke tightly, “We have to get out of here.”

“We can’t!” Bella looked up to see Ori and Bifur emerge from over the hilltop. “We have no ponies; they bolted.” _Nononononono, not again._

“I’ll draw them off.” The Brown wizard’s words surprised everyone, Bella could tell, but Gandalf immediately turned to him, exasperated. 

“These are Gundabad wargs.” Bella paled further at the name, and now Thorin was looking at her oddly again. “They will outrun you.”

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I’d like to see them try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you can't tell, I really like AUs where Bilbo/Bella's a total con artist. Also, I took some liberties with the trolls, but I think it's more fun this way. First quasi-romantic moment, although it's a little blink-and-you'll-miss-it, and I know this is a little shorter than most of my chapters, and the second half isn't as good as it could be, but this is one of those parts that was kind of a slog to write, so this is about as good as I could get it. Hope you like it!


	9. Tager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase scene p. 2: now with Elves!

“Come, on, Bella, keep up!” Kíli sounded panicked, but Bella couldn't find the breath to respond. The Brown wizard had led the Orcs away, but she could still hear them in the distance, could hear that they were hunting. With her legs constantly feeling as though they were about to give out, and trying to keep up with Gandalf, she had fallen to the tail of the group. As the howling grew closer, her legs trembled and she had to hold herself up on the rocks they were passing. Thorin, at the head of the line, stopped just past the edge of the last boulder, and Gandalf quickly led the group the other way. 

As they filtered past another outcropping, Gandalf and Thorin let the others pass, and Bella could barely hear him over the blood roaring in her ears, but Thorin asked, “Where are you leading us?” As she passed him, she mustered up the energy to toss him a glare. _Really? Now?_ She thought his expression might have changed a bit, but he still looked about ready to mutiny. Bella followed the others blindly, now. She could barely focus on the Dwarf in front of her with how her heart was pounding, and when the group huddled against a rock face, she leaned against it gratefully. A moment later, the sound of a warg scenting the air somewhere above them sent all of the strength from her legs, and she slid painfully to the ground. _No, please, nononono_ —

A blade being drawn made her clap her hands over her ears, although her eyes, of their own accord, stayed open. Kíli darted out and shot the warg, and its snarls were loud enough that Bella could hear it even with her ears covered. He shot again, and the warg and its rider fell to the ground. Bella yelped, but the warg’s deafening call sent all coherent thought from her head, and she fell silent and shaking. The Orc rushed the Company, and they quickly cut it down, but she could hear a faint yell echoing over the rocks: **After them!**

Bella heard Gandalf’s voice, but couldn't understand him; the howling coming toward her was all she could focus on. It seemed to grab her attention and hold it so that she couldn't have focused on anything else if she tried. She was jostled, suddenly, and lifted into the air. She managed to move her head enough to see that Bifur was holding her as he ran, and she curled into his arms and gripped his tunic as tightly as she could, ignoring the pain from his grip as best she could. After a minute, his grip loosened and she panicked, thinking he was dropping her, but then realized he was passing her to Fíli and she transferred her grip eagerly. They stopped soon, and Bella faintly heard Fíli yell, “We’re surrounded!”

 _No. I will_ _not_ _be prey._ Bella forced herself to loosen her grip and look up at Fíli. “Put me down.” She wasn’t sure how loudly she’d spoken, but he heard her, and set her down gently. The Dwarves were standing in a defensive formation around her and Fíli, with a group of rocks behind them, and Orc-riders all around them. Fíli drew his sword and went to his brother’s side as soon as she was standing on her own.

“Hold your ground!” Thorin’s sword caught the sunlight as he drew it, and Bella drew her own blade, moving to stand by Ori, and struggling not to let the short-sword shake. 

“This way, you fools!” Bella’s head jerked around as Gandalf spoke, and Thorin quickly ordered the Company to follow the wizard. The Dwarf moved to stand on a rock in front of what Bella now saw was a cave of some sort, and Bella stood by his side and a bit behind him, blade held tightly as the rest of the Dwarves slid into the shelter, one by one. _If you’re going to take anyone, take me,_ _not_ _them_. A warg, running ahead of the rest, headed straight for Bella, and she prepared to strike at it. Thorin’s sword flashed down before she could, and the warg slid to a stop next to her. Its eyes fluttered open, and it began to growl. Bella stabbed it in the eye before it could attack. Kíli shot an Orc in the forehead from his position in the front, and Thorin yelled for him to run. Immediately, he obeyed, and he and his brother slid down as soon as they reached the opening. Thorin followed, and Bella sheathed her weapon and jumped down. She bit down on her cheek to keep from shrieking at the spikes of near-agony as she rolled, hard enough that she tasted blood. After she collided painfully with Thorin’s boots, a horn sounded in the distance.

Bella glanced up at Gandalf. “Was that…?” She couldn't quite bring herself to finish the sentence, in case she was wrong. As the sound of Orcs being killed filtered down to the group, Fíli and Kíli pulled her up and started patting her down, looking for injuries and exclaiming at her black-and-blue legs. Her heart was still racing, and she couldn't catch her breath, but she closed her eyes for a moment, thanking Yavanna for two such worrywarts, and Eru for lending them to her.

“What were you thinking?!” She opened her eyes at Thorin’s irate voice to see that he was standing just in front of her, glowering majestically.

Her still-shaky breathing made it hard to keep her voice steady, but she did her best. “Well, among other things, I was thinking that that warg you cut down was still alive. Now it isn’t.” 

His expression only darkened, but Dwalin’s shout caught their attention before he could respond. “I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or no?”

Bofur responded eagerly, “Follow it, of course!” Bella caught Thorin’s resigned expression as he walked to them.

“I think that would be wise.” Gandalf’s tone sounded odd to Bella, and she saw his distinctly satisfied expression before Kíli picked her up and gingerly carried her through the cave, Fíli still fussing over her and both of them apologizing every time she winced. She held back her protests as well as a puzzled frown. _It looks bad, but I can still walk, or I could if they would put me down_. As they rounded the final corner, Kíli’s grip loosened and he nearly dropped her. She found her footing next to Thorin, standing motionless at the top of the trail, and she stayed there while Fíli and Kíli stepped closer to the others, almost dazed.

The sight before them was beautiful beyond words, and Bella didn't need Gandalf’s hint at its name to know that she was viewing “Rivendell.” The word came out as half a laugh, half a sob, and she covered her mouth, not sure which impulse would prove stronger.

“Here lies the last Homely House east of the sea.” 

Thorin rounded on Gandalf with a glower. “This was your plan all along. To seek refuge with our enemy.” Bella nearly hit him, but restrained herself to simply rolling her eyes. _Elves, the enemy. There’s a laugh_.

The wizard’s tone indicated he agreed with her. “You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield.” _I really need to get that story sometime_. Gandalf’s tone sharpened. “The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.”

“You think the Elves,” Thorin scoffed, “Will give our quest their blessing?” He shook his head. “They’ll try to stop us.” _Yeah, probably._

“Of course they will,” _See? Gandalf agrees with me._ “But we have questions that need to be answered.” Thorin hung his head, looking, Bella thought, like a child that can’t quite convince his mum to let him play just a few more minutes. “If we are to be successful,” the wizard pontificated, “this will need to be handled with tact. And respect. And no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me.”

Bella snorted. _You, tactful?_ The motion unbalanced her, but she twisted just enough to fall against the wall rather than to the ground. It was still painful, but at least she was still upright. Both Thorin and Gandalf looked surprised, as though they’d forgotten she was there, but she only saw their faces for a moment before the boys swarmed her again and started arguing over who should carry her down. She rolled her eyes and nearly told them she didn't need any help, but her legs really did feel weak, and this way she could focus on taking in the sights of Rivendell. It took the Company a few minutes to walk down, but Bella could have looked at the city for hours. She had, eventually, convinced Fíli to let her ride on his shoulders rather than in his arms, and the extra height only made the buildings more stunning. Kíli was following closely behind she and Fíli to make sure he could catch her if she fell, and Bella felt a swell of affection for the two boys. They had to cross a bridge, at one point, and she found herself gripping Fíli’s jacket tightly, instinctively curling into herself, and thus over him, as she caught sight of the water below them.

Eventually, they reached a stone platform where Gandalf stopped and they waited. A voice called out, “Mithrandir!”, and Fíli turned for both of them to see a brunet Elf descending the stairs.

“Ah, Lindir!” Gandalf sounded glad to see him.

Lindir spoke in Sindarin, “ _We heard you had crossed into the Valley_.”

Much more seriously, Gandalf replied in Westron, “I must speak with Lord Elrond.” _How do I know that name?_

“Milord Elrond is not here.” Bella heard some of the Dwarves behind her grumble at the words.

“Not here? Where is he?” A horn, the same one that had sounded before all the Orcs began dying off, cut Lindir off before he could answer. Fíli turned to reveal a hunting party, riding horses, moving toward them. They didn't slow, and Bella was slightly relieved when Thorin shouted something foreign, then followed it with “Close ranks!” Quickly, Fíli set her down and pushed her behind him, and Bella found herself circled by Dwarves. The Elves rode around them for a tense few moments, _was that really necessary?_ , then one of them spoke.

“Gandalf!” He wore a circlet, unlike the others, and Gandalf greeted him even more warmly than Lindir.

“Lord Elrond!” He raised one hand to his chest in an Elvish salute. _“My friend! Where have you been?”_

 _“We’ve been hunting a pack of Orcs that came up from the South. We slew a number near the Hidden Pass.”_ He dismounted and hugged Gandalf, but a familiar voice distracted Bella.

_“Too many, and too near.”_

“Arathorn!” Before the Dwarves could react, Bella ducked under Bofur’s legs, _good time to be small_ , and ran to the Man that knelt and opened his arms to her.

“Asëa!” The Ranger held her tightly, warmly, and Bella paid no attention to the way her ribs, arms, _et cetera_ , screamed at the pressure, and let herself return the embrace, ignoring the shocked grumbling behind her. After not nearly long enough, Arathorn drew back to look her over, brushing at the tears on her cheeks. “Wh— What are you doing here?”

She laughed shortly. “I thought it would be a good idea to get out of the Shire. Can’t imagine why.” His face darkened, looking at the tears in her clothes and the warg blood on her sleeve. She shook her head, pushing lightly at his shoulders to regain his attention. “Never mind that. How’s Gilraen? How’s Aragorn? He must be a year old by now!” She brightened, thinking of the infant. It was already obvious that he had his father’s coloring, with wisps of dark hair and light eyes. Arathorn smiled, but still looked concerned.

“Arathorn.” She turned to see Elrond approaching with Gandalf, both looking surprised. _“Who is this?”_

 _“The Hobbit-lass I told you of,_ Inwinórë.” _How many names is he going to give me, anyway?_

Bella curtsied shakily. _“Lord Elrond. Chieftain Arathorn has told me much about the beauty of your land, but I still find myself stunned.”_ He looked the tiniest bit mollified, but he, Gandalf, and the Dwarves still looked suspicious. _And_ _that’s_ _where I know the name!_

As he examined her, she decided not to mention that Arathorn had also spoken of his wisdom. _I’m sure Arathorn’s right to give you his respect, but you’ll have to work for mine. “You speak the Elven-tongue very well.”_

She smiled unrepentantly. _“Yes, I do_. _”_ When his frown deepened shallowly, she tilted her head, still smiling. 

After he turned away, Arathorn poked her in the back. “Cheeky monkey.” She grinned at him, but didn't have time to respond before Elrond addressed the Dwarves.

“Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain.”

Thorin’s expression turned almost sulky, and Bella rolled her eyes. “I do not believe we have met.”

“You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain.”

“Indeed; he made no mention of you.” His tone was belligerent, but she caught a hint of uncertainty running underneath it. _Can’t say it like a normal person, of course not; then people might think he wasn’t majestic_ _all_ _the time._

Elrond regarded him for a long moment, then spoke steadily, keeping eye contact with Thorin all the while. _“Light the fires, bring forth the wine. We must feed our guests.”_ _Children. I’m surrounded by children_. He was obviously trying to get a reaction, and the Dwarves didn't disappoint.

“What is he saying?” Gloin’s voice rose to a dull roar as he spoke. “Does he offer us insult?” _No, that’s just what he wants you to think_.

“No, you idiots,” Bella had to nearly shout to be heard over the Dwarves, but they quieted a moment later. “He’s offering us food!” She yelped a little as she flew into the air, but laughed when she recognized her abductors. “Elladan, Elrohir, would you put me down, you overgrown corn-stalks!” They were nearly skipping up the steps, holding her so that their arms made a chair of sorts for her. Despite how unexpected it had been, she couldn’t really complain; there were an absurd number of stairs, and it would have been miserable to try and get up on her own. She turned to see Thorin standing stunned with the rest of them, and rolled her eyes at him jokingly, then laughed at the discontented looks on the boys’ faces.

“Corn-stalks?” Elladan’s voice pulled her attention back to the twins.

“No, we can’t be corn-stalks, those are gold!”

“Maybe she’s the corn and we’re the stalks!”

“That must be it!” She giggled as Elrohir finished, and happily listened to them banter. _It’s been far too long_.

“Now, corn-queen, what has you in such a state that you could curtsy that badly?”

“Yes, we taught you better than that.”

“Although we expected the impertinence.”

“Yes, we taught you exactly that.” Her laughter faded, but she felt the same swell of affection for the twins as she had for the boys.

 _“It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later. But I do need to see a healer. And…_ ” She glanced back to where the Company were now climbing the steps. _“Don’t say anything to the Dwarves, please? They don't know._ ” 

The twins gave her identical worried looks. Elrohir began, uncertainly, _“About…?”_

Elladan continued, in the same tone, _“Just now, or…?”_

She sighed. _“They saw just now, but they don’t know how bad it was. And they don’t know anything about before.”_

Elladan frowned. _“You’ll have to tell them eventually, if you’re traveling with them.”_

 _“I know. Just not yet.”_ They nodded soberly. Their conversation turned to lighter topics, and they reached the healers soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Thorin are both children and no one can tell me otherwise. Arathorn is just about the only adult in the entire hunting party. He's not too happy about that. (For those of you who don't know/didn't pick up on it, Arathorn is Aragorn's dad, and he dies a year or so after this.) Also, from now on, anything italicized 1. w/quotation marks is Elvish, 2. w/o quotation marks is internal narration by the PoV character. Sorry if it's confusing when there are thoughts in the middle of sentences, but that's the way I think when I'm reading/seeing/watching something, so it makes sense to me, at least. Confused!Thorin PoV next week!


	10. Sasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hobbits and Thorin and Elves, oh my!

Thorin was more confused than ever. The Hobbit had embraced the Elves, spoken their language, and the sound had sent a stab of pain through him. _At least she didn’t fawn over them like the wizard_. When she sassed Elrond, Thorin had felt almost proud _why would I feel proud, I barely even know her,_ but then twin Elves that Elrond had belatedly explained were his sons swept her away. He couldn't get her face out of his head. When she had been held by the Trolls, he’d felt all the air leave his lungs _no, have to protect her, keep her safe_ but she’d been furious when he saved her life. She saved theirs, though, conning the Trolls so cunningly that he’d been surprised _and seething_ when one struck her and Gandalf came in and finished the Trolls off. But she had responded so vividly _so scared_ when the wargs came. He’d lost track of her in the chase, and nearly stopped breathing when he saw Fíli carrying her. The huge bruises on her legs had distracted him even more. Until she’d said what she did about the warg, he hadn't realized that it had survived, but then he remembered hearing a faint growl suddenly cut off. The thought of her facing a warg alone when she was clearly terrified of them, even an injured one, sent chills down his spine. 

He shook himself; the middle of an Elf-city was no place to let down his guard. _They took her away hours ago, what if she’s in tr— No! She left_ _with_ _them hours ago. They obviously mean_ _her_ _no harm, at least_. He didn't touch the leaves on his plate; he didn't have any appetite. 

Elrond handed the sword back to Thorin. “This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West, my kin. May it serve you well.” Thorin didn't trust him a inch, but accepted the blade with a nod. Elrond turned to the other sword. “And this is Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer,” A faint noise came from the hall. “Sword of the King of Gondolin.” The noise seemed to be getting louder. “These swords were made…” Thorin realized it was yelling. “For the goblin wars of…” Elrond’s voice trailed off and his eye twitched as the cacophony grew even louder. “Of the First Age—”

The doors to the hall burst open and one of Elrond’s sons ran in, chased by the Burglar and his twin, all three laughing. The first one was holding the knife Gandalf had given the Hobbit, and dodging her as she grabbed for it. Thorin was unable to look away from the Burglar for a long moment; she was clean, her hair tied in a messy ponytail and dressed in an ill-fitting Elven gown, and although Thorin suddenly, desperately wanted to see her in a Dwarven dress, he knew his distaste for Elves did not extend to their fashions. _When Hobbits are the models, anyw— stop it!_ Elrond sighed and grabbed the trailing twin’s arm as the trio ran around the table. 

“Is there a problem, Atya?” The boy, _no, man, he’s probably older than I am,_ looked impishly at his father, and Thorin had to hold back a smile at the resemblance to Kíli.

“Elrohir, what are you doing?”

The other Elf stopped running and looked at Elrond, still holding the knife just above the Halfling’s reach. “Well, you see, Atya, we saw Asëa here with her little toy,” She play-growled and jumped for the blade, loose curls swinging, “And decided that our Alca needs a better weapon than a letter-opener, but she wouldn't let us replace it!” 

The Burglar stopped jumping and glared at him, but the expression held none of the heat as it did for Gandalf or himself. “I told you, it’s not a letter-opener.” Thorin’s eyes widened as she climbed the Elf’s side in the blink of an eye, snatched the blade out of his hand, and dropped to the floor with a devilish grin. “It’s a toothpick!” Smoothing her dress as best she could, and leaving a distinctly rumpled Elf in her wake, she turned and walked toward the table, bobbing a quick curtsy to Elrond as she did. “And I’m sure I’ll need it, with all this delicious food in front of me; I’ve worked up quite an appetite, thanks to you two!” After a brief pause, Elrond sat at the head of the larger table. His sons pulled out a chair for her in the middle of the table and sat at her sides. As the Elf-Lord began his questions, Thorin sat across from her, making sure to keep a stoic expression with a hint of confusion. _I’ll help her if she needs it, but she’s so bloody close-mouthed! Even so, I’ll not give up our biggest advantage against the weed-eaters except as a last resort_. While he and the Halfling spoke, the Elf on her right, _Elladan?_ struck up a quiet conversation with Fíli. The other made faces at Gandalf.

_“Tell me, what is a Hobbit doing so far from the Shire? It was my understanding that such a thing was a rare occurrence.”_

_“It is,_ ” She ate daintily but steadily, and her responses were glacial as a result. “ _But I gave my word, and a Baggins always keeps her word._ ”

 _“And how did you win over my sons?_ ”

 _“I think you’d have to ask them that, Lord Elrond._ ”

 _“Then perhaps you could tell me how you met them._ ”

 _“Arathorn introduced us_.” She shrugged. _How is she eating so much? She’s practically inhaling it!_

 _“The Chieftain of the Dúnadain introduced you?”_ Thorin understood why the Elf asked, but his condescending tone forced Thorin to clench his fists rather than punch him. _Insult a member of Company, why don’t you?_

She laughed. “ _Well, he wasn’t Chieftain at the time; this was years ago!”_

 _“And how did you meet Arathorn?_ ” The woman’s face abruptly closed off, the hostile tilt to her ears the only clue to her mood. Thorin felt a flicker of unease at the ice in her eyes.

 _“That is my business and no one else’s_.” By the look of it, Elrond was as taken aback as Thorin was at her about-face, but the Elf on her right yelled and took hold of the conversation.

“She WHAT?!?” The Hobbit frowned at him after she recovered from her surprise, but the expression was a thousand times more open, more alive than the way she had looked a moment earlier. For an instant, Thorin thanked Mahal for the interruption.

“What happened?” The other twin looked easily over her head at his distraught brother.

“Bella nearly got torn in half, that’s what happened!”

“WHAT?” The pair of them began chiding her, but she simply rolled her eyes with a sigh and then crossed them good-naturedly at Thorin. For the second time that day, he felt as though she were communicating some private joke to him. Glancing at his nephews, he thought he understood.

“Honestly, with the fuss you’re making, you’d think I was actually hurt.” Thorin frowned. She may not have been bleeding, but he’d seen the injuries on her legs, as well as how painfully she’d moved and the way she favoured one arm. Obviously, she was fine now, or else she’d never have been able to run around like she had been, but that didn't mean she hadn't been hurt at all.

The twins shared Thorin’s expression as they looked down at her, but there was something else there as well: fear, or perhaps concern. _Was this a common problem with her?_ He remembered how she’d snapped at him while the Trolls held them. _Maybe it is_. “You were. And by Trolls, no less!”

She spoke over the other brother’s yelp of ‘Trolls!’, huffing as she did. “Yes, and I got my revenge, didn't I?”

The one on her right, that had yelped, fingered the hilt of his sword. “More like took away my revenge on behalf of my Nettë.” Thorin’s eyebrow rose, and he hurried to lower it. Not many people were called sister by Elves, especially by Elves as high-born as these.

The Burglar scoffed. “Your revenge? Excuse me, Elladan, but I was the one with a bruise the size of your fat head on my shoulder, and a fractured collar-bone on top of that! I’m fairly certain that makes it my revenge, thank you very much.” At her words, half the Company jumped to their feet, yelling at her about ‘how could you not tell us’, ‘let me look at that shoulder, now’, and ‘why didn’t you say anything’. Thorin had to admit, he agreed with the sentiment, but they were shouting so loudly that he couldn't hear her at all, although he could see her lips moving as she looked around the Dwarves, perplexed. 

When Oin and Bofur started to pull her chair away from the table to examine her themselves, Thorin rose. “ENOUGH.” The Company fell silent, and the Halfling stared at him with the same confused expression as before. “Are you well?”

She spoke haltingly, “I’m fine. The healers here are legendary, the— I’m fine.” She finished with a helpless shrug, and Thorin watched her for a moment, but saw no deceit in her face.

“Oin, go to the healers and find out if we have enough supplies for the journey.” _Oh, good._ _Subtlety, thy name is Durin._  

Elladan looked sharply at the Hobbit, then rose. “I’ll help him.” Thorin didn't doubt the Elf would do so. _He probably wants a full account of her injuries as much as we do_. 

 

The next morning found Thorin glowering blearily at his breakfast. Oin had returned late in the evening to report that the Halfling, in addition to the injuries she’d named, had received damage to her limbs, from the Trolls stretching her, that could have crippled her if Rivendell’s healers hadn’t been up to the task. The bruises Thorin had seen on her legs repeated on her arms, hidden under her sleeves, and both areas had been beginning to swell when the Elves treated her. Her side had been a massive bruise, as well, and she’d had a cracked rib on top of that. _How did she even move, let alone run and fight?!_  

Even the meeting with Elrond hadn’t completely distracted him, given that the _meddlesome_ wizard had brought her along. She’d looked almost as confused as Thorin was as to why she was there. Every time Thorin had caught a glimpse of her, whether she was studying the architecture of the room or making various faces at Tharkûn and Elrond, he’d remembered her face when the Trolls were holding her. She was far more expressive than most Dwarrow, although the way she’d deceived the Trolls proved that she was also a far more capable liar than most Dwarrow. But still, somehow Thorin couldn’t imagine her lying to him. And he certainly couldn’t see how anyone would choose to annoy the Elf-lord as she had unless they were honestly that irritated with him. Especially when the Elf insisted that she should rest her shoulder if she wanted it to heal fully. _Probably the only useful thing he’s done so far_. Thorin hadn’t noticed she’d still been in pain until the Elf pointed it out. He hadn’t been able to forget it since.

His imagination had helpfully insisted he could hear her calling for him in the grip of some nightmare every time he tried to sleep, in between providing scenarios of how, exactly, she’d been injured in the first place, and of how she knew that _baseless, amoral wretch of a_ Man. No matter how many times he reminded himself that contact was not nearly as intimate to Men, Elves, and, evidently, Hobbits as it was to Dwarves, he still couldn’t suppress a spike of rage every time he remembered how the Man had held her, how he’d touched her face as though he’d done so a thousand times before. _No, he was just comforting her, like any of the Company would. And he’d probably like to do more than that; I’ll give him a taste of Dwarven steel if he ever tries— No, I’m not her father, I’m her employer, I don’t have the right to shove a sword down that lecher’s throa— stop it!_

Altogether, he hadn’t managed more than a hour of sleep, during which he’d dreamed of the Man sitting with her during her nightmares. _Although it was odd that he didn’t do anything. He just sat there and watched her._ With how homicidal Thorin was feeling towards the Man, he would have expected any dream with him in it to be much more infuriating. Instead, Thorin’s anger faded a fraction when he remembered the look that had been on the Man’s face: helpless misery, reminiscent of when Thorin had done much the same with his siblings in the months after Erebor fell, and with Dís after Moria. She’d hated having to stay home, and still insisted that if she’d been there, if she’d been a year older, old enough to fight, she could have done something to save Frerin, at least. Maybe she was right, but Thorin was only grateful that he hadn’t lost everyone that day. _She might have saved them, but I could have lost her, too. And I never would have known my nephews_. 

The two young _so, so young_ Dwarrow were currently arguing over their food. Thorin sighed at their childishness, but he wouldn’t change them for anything. It was rare, now, for any Dwarves their age to have the luxury of immaturity. His nephews were more than capable of keeping a level head on their shoulders when the situation required it. Thorin wasn’t about to take away one of the few joys available to them. Not when so many of them were forbidden to Thorin. _One in partic— Quit it!_ The joy in question was noticeably absent from the table. Thorin scowled at his plate. _She’s probably been abducted by leaf-eaters. She’s probably enjoying it, too; she eats as many leaves as they do. Although there aren’t any leaves in this_. Thorin didn’t have the appetite to have more than a few bites of his breakfast, but it was surprisingly good.

After a few more minutes of staring into his bowl, he pushed away from the annoyingly tall table and set about trying to walk off enough energy to make it possible to sleep standing up, if it meant he wouldn’t have another dream like that. He’d been wandering through the halls for half an hour or so when he heard voices ahead. They sounded familiar, but he wasn’t able to make out any words that would indicate who was speaking, and he didn’t recognize them until an instant before he rounded the corner to see Elrond’s spawn standing in a courtyard, hovering around something Thorin couldn’t quite see. He scoffed, turning to go, and _was that the Burglar?!?_

He ducked back to observe them, _not hiding_ , and realized that the Hobbit was holding a bow at full draw. _She shot the Trolls_. He’d forgotten that, but the tunic she wore, while far too loose in most areas, fit over her arms snugly, and did nothing to hide the muscles there. Thorin’s eyes widened. Her normal clothing was the opposite, hugging her form but slack over her arms, _not that I noticed, that would be practically inappropriate_ , but now it was obvious that she had a good deal of experience with the weapon. The twin terrors were almost as astonished as Thorin, by the sound of it, and hadn’t expected her to hold her pose for as much as three minutes _what how long how by Mahal she’s not supposed to be that strong_ without so much as shaking.

She sighed, a note of exasperation in the noise. _“I told you I kept up my practicing. Can I put down the bow yet?”_

 _“No, your form’s a bit off. Stay still.”_ The Elf, whichever one it was, nudged her foot a tad forward, her arm a bit down, circling her to examine her pose.

She turned to glare at him, and Thorin was surprised to see almost as much fire in the expression as she normally reserved for Gandalf and himself. _“You two should be thankful you didn’t give me any arrows.”_ She pivoted, pantomiming loosing arrows at both twins’ heads without moving her feet or her arms from their ready positions.

The other twin pressed a hand to his heart. _“Alca, you wound me. You would turn on your teachers so easily?”_  

She snorted. _“It’s been years since either of you taught me anything I didn’t already know. I’d say, at this point, we’ve moved past teacher-student to friends.”_ She smiled at them fondly, and Thorin tried to convince himself that the way his heart ached was completely unrelated. But there was something more in her expression, something… _mournful?_

Her arms began to tremble, just slightly, _if she held it that long with an injured shoulder, how long will she be able to once she’s healed?!?_ and she lowered the bow to a rest position, looking expectantly at the leaf-eaters. They rolled their eyes skyward in unison, and one of them handed her a quiver of arrows while the other scanned the courtyard. She fastened the quiver to her belt and drew an arrow out, holding it loosely. The Elf that had been looking around pointed to something nearly straight up, out of Thorin’s view. Thorin leaned out a fraction to see that there were fruits hanging from the branches of the tree next to them, although he couldn’t see what they were.

The Halfling squinted at the shapes for a moment, then nodded and adjusted the quiver. She put the arrow to the string, still pointing the bow towards the ground, took a deep breath, then, in smooth, fluid movements, loosed three arrows in quick succession toward the fruit. Thorin blinked as she slung the bow over her back. He’d barely seen her release the second or third arrows; she’d just been a gold blur. Three thuds sounded, three fruits hitting the ground, an arrow through each. One of them looked different from the others, a sort of grass green rather than red like the other two, and Thorin peered at it as she picked it up. 

The twins looked disgusted. _“That is_ _not_ _an apple.”_

As she cut the fruit in half with a knife Thorin hadn’t noticed on her belt, she snorted. _“Of course not; this is the only way to keep you two from stealing my breakfast.”_ Still holding it by the arrow, she used her fingers to scoop out the insides, and the Elves stepped away from her, wrinkling their noses. _“Besides, I got you two apples, didn’t I?”_ She hummed appreciatively as she ate the fruit, and chuckled as the leaf-eaters gagged. _“Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s not like I’m making you eat it.”_ She turned toward Thorin and he ducked behind the wall, listening to her slowly approach and doing his best to pretend that he was only passing by. _“Besides, it’s the least you can do after all the fuss you made this morning.”_

 _“It was only a joke. They call us leaf-eaters; why not make them eat leaves?”_ Thorin’s brows lowered as he realized who they were referring to.

A moment later, his brows shot back up as the Halfling snapped, almost as angrily as the ear incident, _“Because they’re your guests! Because for all you know, you could have poisoned them for the sake of a prank, because they are here for your help, not to be treated like fools! They saved my life, in case you’ve forgotten.”_ Her voice grew a hair fainter, then twin yelps came. _“Honestly, you’re over two millennia old, you should know better than that.”_ Nearing Thorin again, her voice lowered to a mutter. _“What am I saying, they probably got it from their father, with how childish_ _he_ _was yesterday.”_ Rounding the corner, she collided with Thorin, the thought that she was almost irresistible with her cheeks flushed _and smells like summer_ taking him off guard and giving truth to his façade of surprise.

“Burglar.” He nodded jerkily to her, stepping away quickly and noticing that her hands were empty. _What happened to the fruit?_

“Thorin. Am I needed for something?” As she tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear _stop staring at them!_ , she blinked nervously up at Thorin, eyes huge and copper in the daylight.

“No, I was…” _I know I had an explanation ready, where’d it go?_ “…exploring.”

She snickered. “You were lost, weren’t you?” 

Thorin stiffened, trying to suppress the heat rising in his cheeks. “It’s hard to be lost when you don’t have a set destination.”

“It’s hard to have a destination when you refuse to ask for help.” She grinned unrepentantly at him, and he tried to ignore the way his heart jumped. _She’s Kíli’s age, I do_ _not_ _find her attractive_. “I’m not especially familiar with this place, either, but I think I can remember the way back to the dining hall.”

She gestured back the way he’d come, and he fell in step beside her. As they walked, he found himself glancing at her more than once, and realized that he was trying to think of something to talk about. He cleared his throat. “The lea— Elrond’s sons seem fond of you.”

She smiled, but it held the same edge of melancholy that he’d seen before. “And I of them.”

“But more reserved.” She looked up at him sharply, and more shrewdly than he could remember her ever doing before. _I’m not sure even Nori or Balin have looked more intelligent— stop tha— but she is intelligent, enough so to manipulate the Trolls, anyway._

After a moment, she huffed wryly and looked away. “You’re more perceptive than I expected.” Her expression saddened, and she didn’t continue for a minute. “They’re twenty-eight hundred years old, over sixty times older than I am. We only met about eight years ago, which feels half a lifetime to me, but I’m hardly more than a blip in their lives. They care for me, I know they do, but I can’t quite tell if they see me as a friend or a pet.” Thorin’s expression darkened at the last word, but she didn’t notice. “In any case, they insist on treating me like a child, even though I haven’t been one for far longer than I’ve known them.” There was a weight to her tone, now, that caught his attention. He watched her carefully, but was distracted by the way her ears were tilting slightly down. _Stop watching them!_ “They don’t mean any harm, and I love spending time with them, but…”

She looked so dejected that Thorin spoke, against his better judgement. “I may be biased, but you seem to enjoy my nephews’ company more.”

Instantly, she brightened and her ears _stop looking at them when you don’t need to_ tilted back up. “You’re definitely biased, but you’re not wrong.” She hummed a little, and Thorin’s heart skipped a beat. B _ecause of the walk,_ _not_ _because of her, I am_ _not_ _stari— stop staring at her!_ “The boys are more ‘here’, if that makes sense. And they don’t have as many inside jokes, or at least its easier for them to explain them. Half the time with the twins, they’re referring to something that happened a thousand years ago, and it takes hours to explain the context. But I like the boys. They do everything easily, like they don’t have a care in the world.”

A crash came from ahead, and the pair of them both tried to see where the noise had come from. _The dining hall_. He sighed, but couldn’t help a fond smile as he realized who the culprits likely were. “What are they doing now?”

“Infuriating as many Elves as possible?” She smirked at him impishly, a lively light in her eyes that had been absent since before the Trolls, _not that I was watching her_. “I have to admit, with how immature Elrond and the twins have been acting, I’m tempted to join the boys.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, restraining a _flirtatiou— no! Kíli’s age!_ smile as he looked down at her. “Do you think I’m about to dissuade you?” The smirk widened into a _captivating_ grin as the boys burst out of the room, laughing, and she ran to join them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just to clarify in case anyone missed it, Thorin is fluent in Sindarin, and, as always, italics inside quotation marks indicates it's in Elvish. I am emphatically *not* fluent in Sindarin, but the impression I got from looking at dictionaries and things is that 'atya' is a familiar form of 'father', so basically 'Dad'. If that's not what it actually means, I will be very embarrassed, but tough. That's what it means here. The fruit that Bella shoots down is a Star Apple (google it, it's cool), and the Elves use it for medicine, but wouldn't eat it if it was the last food on Arda. Also, the fact that this is set on basically another planet is kind of disappointing here, because it means that nobody can tell Thorin a joke about a certain river in Egypt.


	11. Ze'sasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella's on the warpath.

Bella elbowed Kíli, but his snickers barely faltered. Granted, her own were proving almost impossible to suppress, but even so. The Company had been in Rivendell for nearly three weeks, and the moon runes would be read that night. Oin had wanted to check her injuries for himself, but he’d been somewhat easy to dissuade. _Thank the Giver I got Elladan to go with him that first night; Elladan didn’t have to hold such a grudge, though. Thorin was watching us— what could I do to signal him other than a kick?_ However, keeping thirteen bored, belligerent Dwarves from completely demolishing the city had kept her busy. Some of them, Thorin among them, had been somewhat easy to persuade to stick to verbal sparring and take their frustrations out in the practice rooms when words weren’t enough. Ori had been happy to sit and read in the library, and Bella read with him sometimes when she couldn’t sleep. Often, Nori would collect both of them for meals and such, watching her appraisingly as they walked. Most of them had then wrangled Gloin and the others into complying, although Dwalin had insisted on giving her forms to practice with her little sword, but Fíli and Kíli had been irrepressible. The only way for her to preserve what little good humor remained between the two races had been to divert their attentions to harmless pranks, such as the one currently playing out. _Well, it’s mostly harmless_.

Most of the Elves of Rivendell were content to ignore the Dwarves and let them be, but a few had persisted in either insulting or disparaging them. Lindir was among them. He wasn’t as bad as some, but the way he almost imperceptibly sneered at the boys made Bella’s hackles rise. The two of them were swiftly becoming as dear to her as the twins, and at least as dear as Primula and Drogo, and she wasn’t about to let them be maligned, even nonverbally. So, clearly, after Lindir had implied that Kíli was a half-breed, although Bella wasn’t sure anyone else had caught the insinuation, the only reasonable thing to do was to recruit the boys for her, and Kíli’s, revenge. 

Late in the night, the three of them had snuck into the music room, where Lindir spent most of his time, and whittled, tweaked, and otherwise tampered with the instruments there until they were completely unusable; Bella had squirreled away the oldest looking ones. _I’m not quite_ _that_ _angry. Yet_. Just before leaving, Bella had left an unsigned note, written much larger than was natural to her and hidden carefully so that the Elf wouldn’t find it too quickly, that the Dwarves of Ered Luin could replace the instruments easily, and would likely improve on the Elvish workmanship. Bella hoped it was true. She knew that Dwarves were fine craftsmen, but she wasn’t sure that their skills extended to such delicate techniques.

Now, the trio waited on the roof above the entryway, listening as Lindir exclaimed over the damage. It had taken longer than expected for the Elf to find it; he’d been in a meeting with Elrond for most of the day, and the three of them had taken turns fetching food as they waited. It hadn’t been until nearly sunset that the musician had entered the room and started yelling. There was a sudden silence. Fíli and Kíli glanced at each other nervously, but a slow grin crept onto Bella’s face. _He found the note_. The door flew open, and Bella stuck her head cautiously over the edge of the roof as stomping footsteps retreated. She turned to the boys. “He’s heading to the dining hall!” Without waiting for their reactions, she ran to follow the Elf, still on the roof, but with how everything was connected, she trailed him with relative ease, although the boys had to help her clamber up a few especially tall crenellations. 

Even so, they reached the dining hall quickly, and had time to find a good vantage point before the doors slammed open and Lindir stormed in, face nearly purple. He strode to the table and practically threw the note at Thorin. “Your _Eru-abandoned_ people have mutilated my instruments!” Thorin picked up the note and studied it with a glare. “Who was responsible? Whichever _dissonance_ did this, I want him punished, and severely!” Thorin’s glower flickered, just slightly, and Bella squinted at him, trying to get a better look. _If his stupid hair wasn’t in the way, this would be so much easier_.

Standing to face the irate musician, _seriously, how does he look majestic right now? Lindir’s twice his height!_ Thorin handed the note to Balin and crossed his arms. “None of my Dwarrow wrote this note.” The Elf scoffed, and Thorin’s scowl intensified. 

Bella realized what he would say an instant before he began to speak, and hissed to the boys, “Get down there, and find an alibi, he’s going to want everyone’s handwriting!” She shoved at them, and they were running off to find a way down before Thorin had even finished his sentence.

“…ee for yourself that this was not written by any of my people.”

Lindir purpled further. “How can I, when your _little monsters_ are absent?” Bella’s scowl darkened at the same time that Thorin’s did, and she began to scan the side of the building for handholds, resolutely ignoring the sheer drop. _I’ll need to be down there soon, too, but I’ll snog a Troll before I miss any of this_.

“If you refer to my nephews, they will join us shortly.” Carefully, Bella lowered herself to the first footholds. _They’d better stay distracted; I’m completely in the open right now_.

“And how can you know that?” As she slowly descended, she almost smiled at how difficult it was to force her fingers to release the handholds. _At least I_ _probably_ _won’t fall to my death._

“There’s food.” Bella stifled a snort at Thorin’s dry response. _Well, he’s not wrong._

The door opened, and the boys’ chatter drifted over to her, although she couldn’t make out any of the words. She climbed down until she was just below the edge of the balcony, and edged to the corner where it met the wall, where the light was weakest. Balin called the boys over and explained the situation as she pulled herself cautiously up to peek over the stone. The Company was passing around a scrap of paper, Lindir hovering over them, watching intently. Silently, she crept around the edge to put a wall between herself and the group, and squeezed through the railings, brushing herself off and squaring her shoulders before stepping toward the Dwarves and Elf.

“What’s all this?” She scanned the scene, a wryly bemused expression on her face, before looking at Lindir. “If you’re after calligraphy lessons, I wouldn’t bother. Their handwriting’s atrocious, even by my standards.” Thorin was watching her oddly, but she didn’t let herself linger on him, instead staying relaxed and glancing at the paper as she neared the table. 

Lindir glared at her. Balin spoke before the Elf could. “This fellow has accused us of vandalizing his belongings.”

She raised an eyebrow incredulously, letting her expression morph to confusion as she spoke, then irritation. “And your handwriting will somehow debunk this? Were the vandals kind enough to autograph their handiwork?”

Thorin’s guarded voice drew her attention away from the Elf, and from this close she could see both suspicion and mirth in his eyes. “The culprit left a note, for reasons known only to him. He, however, did not sign it.”

“If it was a ‘he’.” Lindir was glaring at her again. 

She didn’t have to pretend to be offended. “And that’s enough evidence to condemn your guests?” 

His scowl deepened, but she caught a flicker of uncertainty in his face. Oin handed the paper to Thorin, who then presented it to Lindir. “See for yourself; the note matches none of these.” 

Lindir grabbed the paper and scanned it, but narrowed his eyes at Bella a moment later. “She hasn’t signed it. It could easily have been the Halfling.”

Bella straightened, putting her hands on her hips as she aimed a black look at the Elf. “‘She’ is standing in front of you, since you obviously forgot that ‘she’ also has a fully functional mouth. And what reason would I have to do something so spiteful? Especially to you, who’ve never said an unkind word to me, or insulted me, until now! But if you must be satisfied, it’s easy enough to disprove.” She snatched the paper out of his hand and took the pen that Balin offered her. After scrawling her signature, she shoved the paper into the Elf’s hand and stared at him challengingly.

He scanned the words, then held the note up to the paper, glancing between them and looking more discomfited by the second. Finally, he placed the paper on the table and nodded shallowly to Thorin. “I was… mistaken, it seems. I… I apologize for any insult I may have offered.” The words were stiff, and he didn’t look at any of the Company, including Bella, as he retreated. Bella held a mildly cross expression until the door shut behind him. As soon as it did, she dropped the pretense and let all of her hostility free of the restraint she’d shoved her true emotions into.

Her voice was a sarcastic snarl as her fists clenched. “You deserved it, you bloody great weed-eater.” She stalked around the table and sat heavily in a quickly-vacated chair, still muttering under her breath, “Did it hurt to apologize to Dwarves, ‘cause it sure looked like it, you tiny-footed, soft-soled, figwitted utter waste of a so-called Firstborn.” There were mugs of something on the table; she grabbed the nearest and tossed it back. _Not bad ale. Little weak. Rather have something stiffer_.

The Dwarves were watching her, wide-eyed. Thorin’s expression was more masked than the others’, but his astonishment was still clear in his voice. “Destroying an entire room seems extreme for a Hobbit.”

“You didn’t hear what he called your nephew,” she snapped, “and after the way he spoke to all of you just now, I wish I had destroyed the entire room.”

Fíli spoke up while Kíli wordlessly handed her the mug in front of him. “She hid a few of the instruments, but the rest of them were fair game.” She drained the new mug, as well.

Dwalin chuckled. “Careful, lassie, it’ll go to your head.”

She glared at him. “The only thing going to my head is the hour; this is barely stronger than my supper-stock from Bag-End. If it was absinthe, you might have a point, but I could’ve handled this when I was twenty.” Covering her face in her hands, she leaned forward to rest against the edge of the table.

“…What are you doing?” Balin sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

“Imagining chopping off all of his stupid, silky hair and ramming it down his throat.” _And then tying his feet together so he’d have to walk on his knees, see what it’s like for us sensibly-sized folk. Put birdseed on his pillow so he wakes up with a nest on his head, trip him in front of Elrond, swap out his wine for vinegar or something and smile while he coughs, stick a note reading ‘I’m a ponce’ on his back_. The tension drained out of her, and with a contented sigh, she sat up and selected an especially tempting-smelling mushroom out of the food on the table. “I feel much better now.” She smiled broadly at the boys and took a satisfied nibble out of the webcap, humming happily when the flavor burst onto her tongue.

They were staring at her again, but their expressions were more disbelieving than anything else. Dwalin, especially, sounded incredulous. “That’s it?”

She frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t it be? I already got back at him.” The entire Company’s eyes twitched at that. She glanced around the table, eyebrow raised. “We’re supposed to leave soon, aren’t we? So what would be the point of staying angry when I won’t be able to do anything else to him?”

Thorin’s laughter surprised her, but the boys joined him a moment later, the rest of the Company quickly after them. Bofur took pity on her obvious _and telegraphed_ confusion. “Lass, if a Dwarf had been as angry as you were a minute ago, he’d probably burn down the city, at least, before he was content.”

“Why? The rest of them haven’t done anything to any of you, just Lindir.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, and the two in the kitchens, and the one in the library, but I already dealt with them.”

Most of the Dwarves were still chuckling, but Thorin was watching her, head tilted, brow furrowed. “Was none of it for your own sake? The weed-eater insulted you, as well.”

She shrugged. “I’m used to it. But I’m not going to just stand by while people slander you behind your backs.” The rest of the laughter trailed off.

Fíli had an odd look in his eyes, the same as Thorin’s and Kíli’s, actually. “What do you mean, you’re ‘used to it’?”

Bella forced a smile onto her face, but it felt tighter than she was aiming for. “Well, I’m not exactly liked in the Shire. Too quiet for a Took, too strange for my father’s family.” Her eyes dropped, unconsciously, as she spoke. “Whenever I go to market, I hear people talking about what a disgrace of a Baggins I am, or how I shame my mother’s family with my solitude. I think my Aunt Mirabella and her family, and Drogo, of course, are the only ones in Hobbiton to actually enjoy my company. Well,” she amended, “Hamfast does seem to, but I can’t tell if he actually does or if he’s just pretending for the sake of his job.” Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, raised her head, and forced her smile to soften into something a bit more believable. “So being called a Halfling is really nothing to get worked up about.”

“‘Halfling’ is an insult?” She turned toward Balin, but Thorin’s expression stilled her. He had a savage shadow in his eyes, and as she glanced around the table, she realized that Fíli, Kíli, Ori, Nori, and Dwalin had the same sort of look. _Did I say something wrong? I thought they’d had started to warm up to me_.

Much more uncertainly than a moment before, she faced Balin, but didn’t let her voice waver. “Of course. We’re ‘half’ of nothing, neither Man nor Elf. We are our own, and calling us ‘halfling’ is saying simultaneously that our only value comes from our relation to another race, and that even so, we’re too different from them to ever really be respected. The Men in Bree learned not to call us that years ago, but I suppose expecting Elves who’ve never even seen a Hobbit before to know any better was silly.” Balin’s expression had darkened as she spoke, and by the time she finished, he looked as murderous as the others. Shrinking in on herself a fraction, she glanced nervously around the Company, seeing only venom in their faces.

“You never heard how our fearless leader got his Title, did you, lassie?” Bofur sounded slightly panicked, but Bella appreciated his effort anyway.

She smiled at him, but couldn’t bring herself to relax fully when Thorin looked even fiercer. “No, I’ve been wondering about it for weeks, but I couldn’t figure out a way to ask.” Bofur grinned maniacally and pulled her to the fireside on the other end of the room. Slowly, the rest of the Company filtered over. None of them looked quite as angry as they had before, but Bella still  felt antsy sitting by the hearth. Balin and Thorin came over last of all, the latter still glowering, but his eyes seemed to soften when he looked at her. A little of the tension left her as he sat across from her, although he avoided her eyes once he was seated. _What sort of story is this if he looks so uneasy?_

Balin cleared his throat. “Well. Where to start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it might have been a little unclear, but when Lindir is yelling, the italicized words *are* in Elvish, even though the rest of the sentences are in Westron. When I wrote the pre-Troll chapters, I didn't actually mean to leave out the 'Oakenshield' story, but it just kind of worked out that way, buuuuut I had to put it in someplace. This was as good as any. Also, points to anyone who caught the figwit reference!  
> Thorin POV, Bagginshield progress, and worldbuilding next chapter!


	12. Nu'sasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's Oakenshield and the Midnight Rendezvous.

The Hobbit was watching him. Thorin kept his eyes trained on the flames, but he could still see her in his periphery. With the firelight reflected in her eyes and glinting off her hair, she looked as though she were a creature of flame _and mithril_. _Although she didn’t look mithril minutes ago_. A pang of guilt stabbed through Thorin at the thought. When she’d spoken of how she was treated in the Shire, he’d been livid. No Dwarf would dare insult another like that, unless they were looking for a fight, and certainly not someone as young _and beautiful_ and defenseless _and alone_ as she was. It was little wonder that she was so much happier with a group of complete strangers, if her own people treated her so abominably. 

The pain in her face had nearly sent Thorin racing back to the Shire to shear every single person who’d ever insulted her, but he’d stopped himself. To defend his own kin in such a way would be overkill; why was he so eager to defend a woman he hardly knew? Other than the obvious. It had been growing progressively harder for Thorin to deny that he found her _extremely_ attractive. She’d been wearing Elf garb while Elrond arranged for her own clothing to be repaired, and Thorin was constantly torn between finding her stunning, and wishing to see her in Dwarven clothes, _and wanting to tear the Elf rags off o— NO, wanting her to wear anything but Elven clothes_. It didn’t help that every day they’d been in Rivendell, he saw more of her intelligence, and her spirit. They were as bewitching as she looked. _Especially when she’d been manipulating the musician_. He’d seen her looking at them from below the balcony, and had been astounded _and impressed_ by how completely she’d deceived the Elf.

But when she’d looked around at them, she'd looked more scared than she had when she’d been conning Trolls. She’d looked at _him_ them like they were threats. She’d looked fragile. He hated it. He hated seeing her so muted. He’d wanted to reassure her that they would never hurt her, that they were angry for her, not at her, _and grab her, hold her, show her how safe she’d be with me_ — But Bofur had broken the mood first. Ori had sat next to her, the boys next to him. Thorin had wanted to follow the group immediately, but every time he looked at her, the same impulses would assail him. He’d had to wait several minutes before he could trust himself to be so near to her, _not her father, not her brother, not her husband_ — He’d brushed off the sudden heartache as being simply apprehension. Quietly, before they’d gone over, he asked Balin to tell the tale. With his thoughts so jumbled, Thorin didn’t think he could do it justice.

Balin cleared his throat. “Well. Where to start?” Bella’s eyes flicked to him, but returned to Thorin quickly. “After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, we were without a home. We wandered the lands for some time, rebuffed by any who could aid us.” The old, bitter ache of their helplessness returned, but Thorin caught something in the Ha— the Hobbit’s eyes. _Is that emp— no, it can’t be. Sympathy, that’s all_. “King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first.”

“The dragon?”

Balin shook his head. “Orcs.” The firelight made it difficult to tell, but Thorin thought the Burglar had paled a shade. _There’s something odd about her reactions to Orcs. I can’t put my finger on it_. “Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler.” At the name, her eyes widened and she _unmistakably_ paled. Thorin’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t react, even though her eyes were fixed on his. She leaned into Ori’s side slightly; the little scribe looked surprised. “The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin.” Her eyes cleared a fraction, and she glanced at the boys before her gaze returned to Thorin. “He began…” Balin’s voice shook, and Thorin returned to staring at the fire, hoping the light would overpower the memories flooding his mind. “…by beheading the King.” 

For an instant, Thorin could see his grandfather’s head rolling toward him, and he looked toward the boys, reassuring himself that they were safe. As he turned back to the flames, the Hobbit’s expression seemed to hold him, kept him from looking away from her eyes, filled with the same pain that he felt. 

“Thrain, Thorin’s father, was driven mad by grief.” _How is it possible for her to look_ _more_ _sympathetic?_ “He went missing. Taken prisoner” she flinched minutely; if Thorin hadn’t been watching her, he wouldn’t have seen, “or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him.” Thorin tore his eyes away from the Burglar to fix them on the flames again. _Does he have to sound so reverent?_ “A young Dwarf Prince facing down the pale Orc.” Her eyes widened further, but he kept himself from meeting them. “He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. He dealt the Defiler a crippling blow,” her mouth opened slightly, and this time Thorin did meet her eyes; _she looks awed. What about that was so astonishing?_  

“And Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King.” As Balin finished, Thorin saw that the entire Company was watching him, and he met their eyes steadily.

“And the Pale Orc?” The flames danced in the Burglar’s huge eyes. “What happened to him?” She sounded grim.

“He slunk back into the hole from whence he came.” Thorin’s jaw clenched as he remembered watching the Defiler dragged into Moria. “That filth died of his wounds long ago.”

“But how do you know?” Frowning, Thorin met the Hobbit’s eyes. Her expression hadn’t changed, but there was more tension in her voice, in her arms. “Orcs chased us here, if you’ve forgotten.” He straightened indignantly. _As though I could forget how scared and hurt you w— the Company was_. “How do you know Azog wasn’t the one to send them after— after you?” His retort died in his throat. She didn’t look belligerent, she looked petrified. The door opened before he could respond; an Elf, coming to tell them that Elrond had requested their presence.

Thoughts of wide amber eyes lurked in the back of Thorin’s mind for the rest of the night, even as the Elf read out the moon-runes. Late in the night, Thorin found himself stepping out of his room in search of fresher air. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw huge, terrified amber orbs; every time he tried to sleep, he imagined he heard her crying out in the grip of some nightmare. The way she’d looked at him during the tale, the way she’d avoided him during the meeting with Elrond, how tiny she looked when surrounded by Men and Elves— Between all these, rest was impossible. He found a balcony looking over a cliff and leaned against the railing, trying to decide whether the stone beneath him was gneiss or slate.

“You know, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be looking up, not down.” Thorin jerked up to see the Hobbit smiling wearily at him from the archway. She was wrapped in blankets, but her hair spilled down to her waist, unbound for once. She walked over to stand next to him, curls bouncing as she did, and tilted her face to the sky. The action made her neck long and slender, even as her hair made her look smaller than ev— _stop it!_ With difficulty, he moved his gaze to her face, where the starlight turned her coloring ghostly. _Doesn’t suit her, she should be in sunlight, or firelight, something to emphasize her eyes and her hai— stop looking at her!_ He looked up, and realized belatedly that the sky was filled with huge, bright constellations. “You miss a lot when you’re looking at the ground all the time.”

Her voice was wistful, albeit a bit pointed, and Thorin wondered if he was the only one she was referring to, or if there was a larger meaning to her statement. He looked at her just as she blinked slowly, and he followed her eyelids’ movements, _do all Hobbits have eyelashes that long, or— no! Stop it!_ , and he cleared his throat. “I’d have thought you’d be asleep by now.”

She chuckled. “Me too. Apparently it wasn’t to be. I’ve been tossing and turning for who knows how long.” _She didn’t have any nightmares; thank Mahal._ “What about you?” Her eyes landed on his face and he swallowed. The starlight turned the amber to pale Electrum, and he felt he couldn't breath until she dropped her gaze to rub her eyes a few seconds later. _Or was that minutes? One second? An hour?_

He put his arms on the railing and stared fixedly at the stone. _Slate, maybe_. “I have too much on my mind for sleep.” _And nearly all of it concerns you._

She propped her chin next to his elbow on the metal, but didn't speak for a minute. “I really am fine now.”

He resisted the urge to glance at her. “And would you have said that three weeks ago?”

“Well, probably, but there were more important things to worry about than a silly little Hobbit like me.”

He felt a tic begin in his jaw. “You may be little, but you are not unimportant; you’re our burglar. We need you in good condition.”

“I’ll say something next time, then.” She sounded conflicted.

He huffed. “Asking for help doesn’t come easily to you, does it?”

“And it does to you?” She asked wryly. With a wince, he exhaled. _Good point._ He didn't respond, though, and they stood in peaceful silence for some minutes. “I will tell you next time, or at least Oin. I give you my word.”

Her voice was so quiet that Thorin wasn’t sure if he'd actually heard her for a moment, and he spoke before he thought. “So how do you know the Ranger?” She didn't say anything, and he waited for her to shut down like she had those weeks ago, _or worse, catch the inflection_ , but he was taken off guard when she finally did speak.

“There was…” She paused, and Thorin looked at her to see that she was blearily, faintly, frowning, but not angry. “A winter. It was so bad that the river froze, and wolves came into Hobbiton. M— I was…” She seemed to be searching for a word. “lost, and Arathorn was the one who found me. He checked in on me every so often after that, and then we were friends.” She chuckled, rubbing at her eyes again. “That’s how he puts it; we were acquaintances for a while, and then, all of a sudden, we were friends and he wasn’t sure when it changed.” She shivered and drew the blankets closer around her, and Thorin wished he had his coat with him. _No, that would be inappropriate, that would be courting, maybe I should fetch it, no,_ _Mahal_ _, what am I thinking?_ “I don’t like to think of how we met.”

“I’m sorry, if I’d realized—”

“No, it’s fine.” She smiled at Thorin drowsily and didn't seem to notice how heat rose in his cheeks. “It was good, it just wasn’t up until then.” She yawned.

“I think we should both go back to bed.” His voice was lower than he meant it to be, and he cleared his throat while she nodded.

“Prob’ly a good idea. Sleep sounds good.” She began shuffling back the way she’d come, and Thorin followed, not sure if she could get back to her room safely, alone. “Ell’dan and El’ohir ‘re good, you know. R’mind me of y’r nephews.”

She swayed softly, and Thorin put his hand under her elbow to steady her. “I thought so, as well.”

She smiled. “Th’t’s ‘cause you’re not stupid. Y’re stubb’rn, ’n’ broody, ’n’ m’jestic, but—”

Thorin couldn't help but interrupt, an amused laugh in his voice. “Majestic?”

“Mmm.” Nodding, she swayed again, and turned Thorin down a corridor. “You ev’n climb out ‘v tr’ll sacks m’jest’cly. ’S not fair.” Thorin was shaking now, trying not to laugh. “I c’n’t be m’jest’c if I try.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” He contributed, “I thought you looked very regal when you shook off your sack.” _Queenly, actually, with the sunlight giving you a golden crown. I could make you one, with rubies? No, opals, and—  stop it!_

She huffed. “Reg’l isn’t m’j’st’c.” Clumsily, she stopped in front of a door, and struggled to find the handle for a moment. She leaned against him for a moment, and when he felt a few stray curls tickle his neck, Thorin had to turn the other way in order not to bury his face in her hair. But a second later the door opened and the temptation moved away with her.

“Don’t sleep too deeply; we leave at dawn.” Again, he had to clear his throat to get rid of the huskiness there.

“Oh.” She pouted a little, adorably. “I’ll h’f t’ leave a n’te.”

“Yes, you wouldn't want the Elves to worry.” 

She giggled at his dark tone. “Y’re broody ‘g’n. ‘Night, Thorin.” _So that’s how my name sounds on her lips, I wonder how they ta— NO!_ It took a few moments for him to realize that he was staring at a closed door. He shook himself and strode away, as quietly as he could until he was far enough away that he thought she wouldn't be able to hear him anymore. Glancing at the balcony as he passed it, his pace quickened. _Yes, think about stone, not Hobbits, even if they’re exquis— No, stone. Stone. Maybe that was gneiss, after all. Her voice was nice— stop it!_ _A distraction. I need a distraction_. He looked around the room he was sharing with the rest of the Company. They’d all been given private rooms, but they needed to be together if they were to leave early. It would be hard enough to fetch the Hobbit without the Elves noticing. Assembling thirteen Dwarves unseen would've been impossible. He picked his way over to where they had piled their effects together and opened his bag. Then he frowned. _Nothing here is good enough._ He glanced at his nephews. _They’re distracting enough, especially when they argue._

After a moment’s thought, he found Ori’s book and retreated to a chair on the other side of the room. The shy Dwarf had been recording everything as best he could, and Thorin flipped through, hoping to find some of Fíli and Kíli’s banter. The little Dwarf was useful for that much, at least, and for scouting, even if he wasn’t much help in a fight. _Although that slingshot is surprisingly effective_. Thorin hadn't wanted to bring him, initially, but he’d proven his worth. That hadn't stopped the sons of Fundin from trying to talk Thorin out of the decision, though. Especially Dwalin. _Ori must have wronged him somehow, to earn such enmity._ The bald Dwarf didn't even keep watch on the same side of camp as Ori slept, and barely even looked at him when he was awake. _Bofur’s kind to him, though_. The two had bonded a few days into the journey, never speaking much, but always watching out for each other in fights.

Thorin blinked and saw that he’d been blindly staring at the same page for several minutes. He began to flip the page, then focused on the words. It was part of a conversation between Balin and the Burglar that Thorin vaguely remembered hearing in the background as he talked with Tharkûn by the fire. Against his better judgement, he read it.

BF- different ways of finding their Ones, according to their family line.

BB- Such as how?

BF- Dwalin found his by seeing her, as with our mother’s line. I found mine by touch, as a descendant of Durin.

Thorin paused. Dwalin had found his One? He never said anything.

BB- So are you related to Thorin? The boys told me, but I’m afraid I can’t remember.

BF- *chuckle* Yes, lass. We share a great-great-grandfather, Náin II.

BB- But what do you mean, ‘found her by touch’?

BF- Durin’s line has always used touch. When we touch the skin of our One for the first time, something changes. For me, when I touched her cheek, the sounds of everything intensified until I thought I would go deaf. That faded, but for the rest of her life, her voice was always more vibrant than anything else in the world. Nori will probably have something similar.

BB- You’re related to them too, Ori?

BF- No need to be so shy, lad! But yes, he and his brothers are part of Durin’s line; much more so than I. They share a grandfather, Thrór, my first cousin twice removed.

BB- *laugh* This all sounds much simpler than it is for Hobbits.

BF- What is it like for Hobbits, then?

Thorin unconsciously straightened in his chair as he turned the page and read on.

BB- Well, we don’t call them Ones, first of all. They’re, um… I can’t think of how to say it in Westron. Well, I’m waiting for my voshall (?), and your One was your vushill (?). Does that make sense? Oh, sorry, Ori, they’re spelled Voshel and Vashil.

BF- And a Voshel and Vashil make a Pair? How do they find each other?

BB- Well, most Pairs know each other growing up, or at least have seen each other. Usually they’re drawn to each other, too, but that doesn’t always happen. But there are a few signs.

BF- Such as longevity, as with your… grandfather, you said?

BB- Nicely remembered! Yes, he didn't find his Vashil until he was sixty and she was thirty, and it took almost a decade before they could marry, but he looked the same until she caught up to him at seventy, and then they aged together until the end. He set a new record, you know. No Hobbit’s ever lived to a hundred and thirty before.

BF- And what are the other signs?

BB- Well, Pairs hardly ever get sick, and I’ve never… I’ve almost never heard of a Pair dying of anything but old age.

BF- What if one is killed in battle?

BB- I don’t know. The other would probably die, too, although I don’t know how long it would take. Sometimes it takes hours for the other to fade. *a pause* But often, Pairs find each other by touch. 

BF- By touch, you say?

BB- *laugh* I do! When you said that earlier, I thought maybe Dwarves had something similar, but it’s quite different. It takes months, usually, for the Jjowthee’et (?) to be noticeable; it grows with time, you see. Sorry, Zhauthiet. But the more time a Pair spends together, the more they get to know each other, the faster it goes, and after a while, when they touch… *whispered* How did she put it? *normal volume* That was it; my mother described Zhauthiet as being like staring at an object until it’s the only thing you can see, except with touch, and you don’t mean to do it, and it never fades. But she could always tell the difference between my father and I poking her, even if her back was turned, and so could he, for that matter.

BF- And that’s how Pairs find each other?

BB- Well, sometimes, but other times it’s because of rulinz (?). Oh, sorry, it’s spelled Ralenn.

BF- What are Ralenns, then?

BB- Um… remembering-dreams? No, that’s not right. Well, no, actually, that works. A Ralenn is a dream where you see a memory of your Voshel, or Vashil, in your case.

BF- Isn’t that just remembering something about them?

BB- No, you don’t see your memories. You see theirs. From before you met, usually.

A dream Thorin’d had of her weeks earlier suddenly came back to him. The dream had been the night he learned of her nightmares, and in it she had been playing with a much-younger version of the Hobbitess that had been at her door when they met.Thorin dropped the book, hearing his Company grumble at the thud, but not caring. _Oh. OH._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this clears up any confusion over what was going on at the end of the last chapter. Also, some clues toward Bella's Tragic Backstory, a little info on my take on Ones and the Hobbit equivalent, and the penny finally drops.
> 
> ***SPOILER WARNING***
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter Thorin PoV: *internal screaming* *oh no she's hot* *louder internal screaming*


	13. Gemsasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trading secrets, that's what friends do, right?

“Mistress Baggins, I suggest you keep up.” Thorin was glaring at her again. _Maybe something I said offended him last night?_ Bella wasn’t sure. She remembered getting out of bed and following the fresh air to a balcony, and she remembered telling him about the Fell winter, but everything after that was so fuzzy that she wasn’t sure what was memory and what was a dream. She was fairly sure the part where he’d called her regal was a dream, though. She flushed again, thinking of it, and hurriedly looked down at her feet as she walked. _Why would I have dreamed that? The most complimentary he’s ever even been was when he said I could have handled the Trolls, and that was implied!_  

She was fortunate to have woken early, because the first she heard of the departure was when Bofur slipped into her room just before dawn. She’d nearly screamed as it was; if she’d been asleep, she definitely would have. As they snuck out, with a laughable amount of ‘stealth’, she tried to focus on the task at hand. The Hobbit-sized recurve bow, with a matching quiver, that the twins had snuck into her room was a nice distraction for a few minutes, but the dream that had woken her still lurked in her mind. In it, Smaug flew over a town, razing it, while a few Dwarves, all young, watched helplessly from the mountainside. Bella could still feel the heat of the flames, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't quite put it out of her mind. Her back ached as she remembered it, and Ori fell to the back of the line beside her.

“Are you alright, Miss Baggins?”

Bella smiled at the timid Dwarf. “Ori, I told you ages ago, call me Bella.”

He blushed happily. “If you want, B- Bella, but are you alright?”

Ruefully, she smiled. Ori was the quietest in the group, but also the most perceptive by far. She’d tried to brush off her aches and pains several times before, and Ori always caught her. “I had a bad dream last night, that’s all.” _Did Thorin j— Did he just glare at me?_ “I haven't had much else to think about today, so I’ve had a hard time forgetting it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Bella bit her lip. “Actually, I was curious. The boys told me that their mother, Dìs, is Thorin’s sister, but apart from Gloìn, none of the rest of you have mentioned any wives or sisters.” _Although I think_ _you_ _might have a good reason for that_.

Ori paled. “Well, we don’t… um…” Furtively, the Dwarf glanced ahead, and then lightly touched Bella’s arm, drawing them both back so that there were a few feet of space between them and the rest of the group. “Dwarrowdams are rare,” Ori whispered. “There’s only one for every two or three dwarrow, and they’re kept secret; O-Khazâd are almost never told about them.” 

Bella had never heard the word before, but she could guess what it meant. “Oh, I’m sorry, if you aren’t supposed to say—”

“No.” Ori looked more resolute than Bella had ever seen him. “You saved us, with the Trolls. You deserve this much.” As Ori glanced ahead again, entire bearing screaming ‘I’m doing something I shouldn’t’, Bella made sure to keep her own body language and expression sympathetic, hoping that if any of the others looked, they would only see a shy Dwarf confiding in a friend. “When dams travel, they always disguise themselves as male, and usually take another name, too. Sometimes they can go for months without anyone realizing, if they’re careful. Since there’s so few, they’re treasured. No Dwarf would ever keep a Dwarrowdam from doing something if it was important to her, although they might make a fuss if they were worried.” Ori glanced at Dori for an instant. _Oh, I was right, wasn’t I?_

Bella frowned. _Should I? I think… I think I should_. “Ori?” The Dwarf looked at her curiously, with a glint of concern at her nervous tone. “You’ve trusted me. It’s only right that I trust you in return.” Bella turned away, unable to hold Ori’s gaze, and fixed her eyes on the back of Thorin’s head. _This is going to be hard enough already; I won’t get through a full sentence with those puppy-dog eyes staring at me_. “My parents and I were taken. We were…” Bella’s throat closed for a moment and she focused on breathing for a few seconds before continuing, voice almost inaudible. “We were held for a long time. That’s how my parents died. That’s why I said I’d only  almost never heard of a Pair dying of anything other than old age. I wanted to say, before, but I couldn’t, not with everyone listening. But,” She looked at Ori and held the scribe’s eyes desperately. “Don’t tell the others, please. I’m sick of being looked at like I’m broken. I had enough of that in the Shire.”

Ori nodded solemnly, eyes welling up. “I won’t.” As they walked, Bella couldn't find anything else to say, and neither could Ori, she thought, because it was nearly five minutes before the Dwarf said, nearly exploding, “Mynameisn’tOri!” The Dwarf panted for a moment, then continued, much more evenly, though no less desperately, “My name’s Kítos and I’m a girl and Ori’s my next-oldest brother and he didn’t want to come, but I did and Dori didn’t even consider it until I said I would take Ori’s name and not tell anyone, but you’re so kind and you trusted me and I couldn't keep lying to you!” O— Kítos stared at Bella as though she were afraid Bella would yell at her. 

Bella smiled softly and gently bumped shoulders with the taller girl. “I’m very glad to meet you, Kítos.” Kítos broadly returned Bella’s smile, and Bella found the courage to ask, “If you don’t mind, how old are you, actually? I’m guessing you borrowed Ori’s birthday along with his name.”

Ducking her head, Kítos nodded shyly. “I’m a hundred and three. More than old enough to come along, but…”

“But you have an overprotective worrywart for a brother?” The Dwarf laughed and bobbed her head, and the two giggled quietly together. There had been enough little things to start Bella wondering about ‘Ori’, but now that she had confirmation of her theory, it seemed ridiculous that she’d ever been unsure. Seeing Dori frown and begin moving toward the two of them, Bella sobered and said quickly, though lowly, “Cherish him. He loves you and wants to protect you; don’t let him think that you don’t recognize that, even if he does drive you insane.” Kítos looked shocked, but nodded just as Dori reached them.

“What’s goi—”

Bella grinned at him. “Oh, good, Ori was just saying that he was meaning to talk to you. I’ll head up by the boys and leave you to it.” She shouldered past him, smirking at his surprised expression, but hers fell a moment later. Steeling herself, she put the thought of her parents, of those years, out of her mind and fell in step beside Bofur. The hatted Dwarf looked oddly at her, but said nothing, only took hold of her forearm to help her up a small but steep incline. Although her parents’ voices seemed to follow her, the dream, at last, faded away, and she was able to focus on the journey. The terrain had been getting hillier the further up they got, but despite the fact that there was a lovely, flat clearing just here, Bella guessed that they wouldn't be stopping yet. It was barely midday, and they hadn’t even reached the foot of the mountain yet.

Just as she thought, Thorin didn't let them make camp until nearly sundown, and pushed them just as hard for the next fortnight. During that time, she alternated walking with the boys, usually laughing until she was hoarse, and talking with Kítos, who thankfully didn’t try to bring up what Bella had told her. During the evenings, before they settled down, Fíli, Kíli, and occasionally Dori gave her tips on wielding her sword, and within a few days she was capable of sparring with them. She also practiced her archery with Kíli, and had a few pointers for him in exchange for the tips he gave her. But they’d made it a little ways up the mountain in the meantime. When she helped Bombur with dinner, she kept getting distracted, half-convinced that she’d been here before. After the second time that she’d nearly scalded him, serving the soup, he relegated her to carrying the others their dinner. To take her thoughts off of darker subjects, she focused on the way all of the Dwarves, the clumsy, mannerless Dwarves, took their bowls gingerly, as though they were afraid she would burn them, too. As she brought Fíli and Kíli theirs, with hers balanced carefully on her arm, she looked back and realized that they never touched her. Not when they could help it. 

As the boys took their food, Kíli examined her face and asked worriedly, “Are you alright?”

She laughed as she sat in front of them, her back to the fire. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Fíli intoned solemnly, “A dangerous pastime.”

Cheekily, she grinned at him, “I know.” Her smile fell a moment later. “But I’ve only just noticed; none of you ever touch me, not my skin, anyway, except…” Kíli’s face tightened, and she hurried on. “But even when you hug me, or help me up,” _Like Bofur, earlier._ “You’re always careful not to touch me. Are you afraid of Hobbit germs or something?”

“No!” The boys both spoke at once, frantically. Fíli began hesitantly, “It’s just…” Looking lost for words, he elbowed Kíli, who elbowed him back, and then they were arguing silently, throwing loaded expressions back and forth. Bella would have been annoyed, but the sight so reminded her of a similar fight between Elladan and Elrohir that she had to hold back a laugh. 

Balin sat next to her, quelling the boys with a stern look, and said clearly, “It would be improper.”

She blinked. “What, even shaking my hand?”

“Yes. Dwarves show very little skin, and to touch what skin is shown without a connection forged by blood or battle is considered rude unless you’re a physician. When taking into account the fact that you’re a lass, it becomes lewd. The only thing more disrespectful would be to touch your beard, if you were a Dwarf, that is.”

The boys were nodding, looking distinctly relieved that they didn't have to be the ones to explain. Kíli added, “I thought Uncle was going to brain that Man when he touched your face in Rivendell. I almost did, too.”

Bella realized her mouth was hanging open and shut it with a small snap. Shaking her head, she protested, “But I thought it was hair that was private for Dwarves.”

Balin dipped his head thoughtfully. “Aye, hair is personal. But between hair and skin, hair is less offensive, although it’s still dreadfully familiar, as you’re a lass. That’s why none of us have offered to help you with yours, even though that braid you wear is far too plain.”

 _And here I thought I was doing it well, without any help._ She chuckled. “Yeah, it probably is.”

“Who taught you? We didn't see any other braids in the Shire.” 

The boys’ curious expressions made her laugh, as did how eagerly they asked. _They must have holding that in for weeks now._ “Elladan and Elrohir, of course. But their hair is so straight and fine, it’s little wonder Elven style doesn’t suit me.” Her voice trailed off at the end as the boys’ eyes bugged, and as soon as she had finished talking, Kíli leapt up and fairly ran to Thorin, Fíli not far behind him. Her mouth was hanging open again, and she shook her head, turning to Balin, “I swear, I’m never going to understand those boys.” 

Balin patted her on the shoulder sympathetically, “They get it from their uncle, dearie. Good luck.” _Good luck? With what?_ Leaving behind a suddenly apprehensive Bella, Balin stood and moved over to his brother. _Who’s still pretending not to look at Kítos. Why would— oh… oh! Is she_ — The boys’ argument distracted her. They were heading back over to her, debating something fiercely, and she saw Thorin scowling at her from his seat behind them.

“Alright, Thorin agrees:” Fíli began.

“You can’t keep wearing that.”

“You can’t have an Elf braid while you’re traveling with Dwarves, that is.”

“So we’re going to teach you a Dwarf braid.”

She shook her head hopelessly. “I’ll never be able to learn it; the Elf braid took me years to be able to do on my own.”

The boys paled. “Well…”

“Um…” The two of them conferred quietly together while more and more of the Company  turned to look at the spectacle. 

Eventually, Thorin stood and walked over to her. “What are Hobbit views on the matter?”

She blinked at him. _Braids? Oh, he means touching people’s hair._ “It’s not a big deal, really. You ask the person’s permission first, of course, but if they give it, no one thinks twice about it.” _Although men hardly ever touch women’s hair and vice versa, but that seems a moot point when I’m surrounded by men. And at least one woman pretending to be a man._

Thorin nodded. “Fíli, you’re closest in age,” Kíli squawked; Thorin ignored him, “If she gives her permission, you have mine.” He strode back to his seat while Fíli stood speechless. Kíli, however, was pouting.

“I’m younger, why can’t I?”

Fíli smacked him on the arm. “Because you can barely braid your own hair, that’s why.” Taking a deep breath, Fíli walked in front of Bella, bowed, and formally asked, “Miss Baggins, do I have your permission to help you with your hair?”

She smiled at him, still off-balance, but amused nonetheless. “Bella, and yes, Fíli, son of Dìs, you do.” She scooted forward, toward him, so that he had enough room to sit behind her. As soon as he did, she felt tension leave her shoulders at the loss of heat, although part of her was still afraid he might touch an ear by accident. But he worked carefully, slowly, untangling her hair as he went, with many muttered instructions to ‘Kíli, hold this’, and never even tapped her ears. When he was finished, she ran her hands over her head and realized that he’d somehow wound two braids around her head and into a single tight, thick braid that made her hair a solid foot shorter than usual. She twisted her head, then shook it quickly, but none of the braids even budged. “I love it!”

She spun to face him, with a grin to match his. “There you are, Bella, now you look like a proper Dwarf! Don't you think, Uncle?” Fíli moved out of the way to let Bella see Thorin's back. He turned to look at her and his face emptied; his mouth slackened, eyes wide and skimming over her. Bella felt her cheeks heat at the examination, but found herself waiting to hear his verdict. 

His expression lowered into a fresh glower. “Well done, Fíli.” After a quick nod to his nephew, Thorin turned back around. _Is that man ever satisfied?_ Oddly, Bella didn't feel irritated, as she would have thought, but strangely disappointed. Kíli made her laugh, though, as he insisted she turn this way and that so that he could try to figure out how Fíli had done it. Fíli chimed in constantly with jabs at his brother’s lack of talent that only served to amuse Bella further, especially once Kíli started insulting him right back. Soon enough, the two’s increasingly ridiculous banter left Bella in stitches. But eventually they settled down, and after their now-typical sparring, Bella laid down between Thorin and Kítos as usual. _Maybe she is the one helping with my nightmares? If she thought telling me might make me suspicious, then maybe she wouldn't have said, but then why wouldn't she have told me today? She told me everything else. But_ _why_ _would Thorin help me?_ The thought of the King Under the Mountain reminded her of the way he’d looked at her earlier, but this only made her thoughts more jumbled until she could hardly tell what she was thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for forgetting to update last week, I just realized last night, so I'll post another chapter tomorrow, yeah?  
> That said, I really only have two things to point out: Disney reference if you're paying attention (and that's the original, not the one that just came out); and when Thorin turns around, well... for those of you who have seen North and South, you know the train scene? Yeah, when they're sitting on the bench, right as he's leaning in? That's the expression I imagine him making. Super vague wording not to give away the best scene in the miniseries to the uninformed, but if you know the scene, just know that Thorin and Thornton have the exact same thought at that moment, Thorin's just sitting on the other side of the clearing. And has better impulse control, surprisingly.  
> Also, I think fem!Ori might be one of my favorite things in this fandom, behind fem!Bilbo and the families-of-choice trope. Although here she's not actually Ori, so what do you think? Should I tag it fem!Ori or OFC? Technically she's both, so I'll leave it up to you. But if no one gets back to me before tomorrow night, I think I'll go with the first one.  
> Ta 'til tomorrow! 
> 
>  
> 
> (why do I sound british all of a sudden? ... maybe it's 'cause I've been binging Merlin. ... Nah.)


	14. Ramekhsasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stone Giants and sarcastic!Bella, no wonder this is one of my favorite chapters.

During the night, she dreamed of Smaug again, except instead of flaming at a mountain, he was targeting the Shire. Bella saw her parents in the blaze and started to run forward, but abruptly, she was standing in a wide, open hall, filled with Dwarves. The men wore finer clothes than she had ever seen, and most of the women wore dresses, surprisingly, but a few of the women stood guard, in uniforms no different from their male counterparts. The entire room was watching a group on the dais, even more richly attired than the rest: an older Dwarf, wearing a huge, gaudy crown, and a younger, tattooed one wearing a circlet just as adorned as that of a dam standing next to him, who was holding an infant. The oldest one was talking, but Bella couldn’t hear his words, just his voice. The two Dwarrow with the circlets smiled at each other blissfully, then turned their smiles toward the baby in the dam’s arms. Bella stepped forward, standing on her toes to see the child’s face, but only glimpsed its brilliant blue eyes before she was woken by Bofur just after dawn.

“Sorry, lass, but it’s time to get a move on. Thorin wants to make it to shelter before nightfall.” She groaned theatrically, and received a smile for her efforts, but got up and began packing her things. She put her hand back to check her braid, then stopped. She’d forgotten about the new plait, and happily felt that it hadn't budged in the night. “Come along, lass!”

With a roll of her eyes, Bella finished and joined the others. The climb today was more strenuous than the day before, and while Bella could have talked with a little difficulty, none of the Dwarves had any breath to spare. At midday, in fact, Bombur took so long to recover once they found a rare flat spot that Bella made the food, served it, and repacked the supplies herself. She caught a few odd looks out of the corner of her eye, but neither she nor they said anything, and the journey continued. As the days progressed, clouds began to gather overhead. Thorin looked at them, occasionally, but never did more than shake his head and re-shoulder his pack. One day, nearly three weeks since they left the Elves, the sky was so overcast that Bella had a hard time finding her footing, but Thorin still pushed on. _Makes sense, I suppose. If we wanted shelter, we’d have to go all the way back down_.

A few short hours later, she was beginning to wish they had. She was small enough that the narrow ledge they traversed didn't frighten her, but the rain and wind made it almost impossible for her to keep her footing, and she resorted to holding onto Bofur’s pack. A rock slipped under her feet and she began to fall, only to be caught by Dwalin, but not before she’d seen just how far she would have fallen. Faintly, she could hear Thorin yelling something, but she focused on breathing and blocked him out. 

“Watch out!” She followed Dwalin’s eyes to see a massive boulder flying through the air, and grabbed Bofur’s straps again. Just before the impact, she felt Dwalin take hold of her shoulders. The entire mountain seemed to shake, and rocks bigger than her head rained down around them.

Balin’s voice was faint, but audible. “This is no thunderstorm; it’s a thunder battle!” A growl reverberated through the air. “Look!” She raised her head to see a gigantic figure break the top off of one of the smaller peaks.

“Well, bless me.” Bofur sounded more awed than scared, and Bella had to remind herself not to hit him. “The legends are true. Giants! Stone Giants!” Now he sounded scared. The Giant threw the stone past the Company, and Bella followed it to see another Giant appear behind them.

“Take cover, you'll fall!” _Really, Thorin? I never would have thought of that, what an idea!_ She flattened herself against the cliff face as the ledge eroded beneath her feet, and almost fell again when the rock began to vibrate. A moment later, the cliff split, and she heard Fíli screaming Kíli’s name. _Queen, let him be alright, please! Wait, did another boulder just hit?_ She raised her head to see another Giant stretch itself out of the mountain, and stand to reveal that she and about half the Dwarves were on one of its knees; the rest of the Company was on the other one. As the creature walked, she wobbled, despite clinging to the rock with all her might. The Dwarves, on the other hand, while terrified, weren’t having any difficulty staying on. _Stupid Dwarves and their stupid stone; why couldn't this have happened in a forest or a wheat-field or something?!_  

As the Giant started to fall, she saw that the rest of the Company had managed to get off the other knee, _probably when it stumbled_ , but was distracted by the cliff coming rapidly towards her face. There was enough room for the others to land safely, but an outcropping protruded, _of course_ , right in front of her. _I can’t jump in front of one of the others, we’ll both fall! But I’ll be squished if I don’t do s_ — Before she could overthink it, she dove under the others and slid onto the ledge just as the Giant impacted, but kept sliding past where she meant to, ripping her right sleeve wide open to her elbow. _NO!_ As the Giant fell, she barely managed to find a handhold on the edge of the rock, but _this Giver-forsaken rain!_ it was too slippery for her to pull herself up or to find a foothold. 

As she tried, Thorin stopped at the edge of her vision, but she couldn't find any breath to shout to him. He kept moving, and she heard Bofur cry, “Where’s Bella? Where’s the Hobbit?” There was a brief pause, and Bella renewed her efforts to lift herself up. “There!”

Someone else yelled, “Get her!” Kítos’s face appeared at the cliff just as Bella slipped and fell a couple of feet before catching herself, one-handed. Kítos and Bofur reached frantically toward her. Bella tried to stretch toward them, but couldn't reach. Suddenly, Thorin appeared at her side and grabbed her forearm, wrenching her up to where Kítos and Bofur could grab her. The two of them turned her around as they pulled so that she came to rest with her back against their chests; at the same moment, Thorin shouted, and Dwalin dove to catch the hand still clinging to the rock. Bella felt a sharp stab of fear, paralyzing her so that she couldn't have helped if she tried. _Yavanna, Giver, Queen, help him!_ Dwalin grunted, pulling Thorin up, but a few seconds later they were both standing on the ledge. Bella released the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, and panted as Dwalin said, “I thought we’d lost our Burglar.”

The note of relief there lifted Bella’s spirits a fraction, only for them to all but collapse as Thorin turned to look at her. His face was darker than she’d ever seen, and he stared at her as though she’d wronged him personally. “She’s been lost ever since she left home.” His voice was raw, but he smoothed it when he spoke again, turning away as he did. “She should never have come. She has no place amongst us.” He walked away, calling for Dwalin to follow him when the bald Dwarf didn't move. Kítos began to speak, but Bella waved her off. She had no desire to hear sympathetic platitudes. 

They made camp in a cave Thorin and Dwalin found, which got them out of the rain, at least. Bella sat near the front of the cave, where there was the most light, as Thorin refused to let anyone start a fire, and sewed up her jacket sleeve. She couldn't fix her undershirt, not without taking it off, so she turned away from the others so that her bare arm was to the wall. This, unfortunately, put Thorin in her field of vision, who seemed even angrier now. _What did I do to him, anyway?_ Uncomfortably, she ducked her head to check her stitching and decided that it was good enough for tonight. Sleeping with the jacket on would be disagreeable, but preferable to showing the entire Company that much skin. After what Balin had said a week ago, she guessed that they would be either offended or scandalized. _Maybe that’s what he’s mad about. But then wouldn't he look away or tell me to cover up, or something?_ Despite his glowering, Bella couldn't bring herself to settle her bedroll anywhere but its usual spot next to his, and he made no objection. This meant that she was near the front of the cave, but even so, it didn't keep her from resting. What  was keeping her awake was the Giant-sized pit in her stomach. _I can’t go back to the Shire, that’s clear. But if I can't stay here, maybe Rivendell would have me? The twins would love it, I know; I’d get to meet Arwen, too._ But the thoughts of her friends didn't help, only made the possibility that she would have to leave more horrible. These Dwarves, frustrating and hard-headed as they were, had somehow become nearly as dear to her as her Elven friends. The dreams of Smaug, in all his horrible glory, made it all too easy to imagine them dying in his fire. Finally, as quietly as she could, she crept out of her bedroll, snuck past Kítos, and sat next to Bofur. She’d brought her sword, just in case, but even so, she felt so small looking out at the mountains that she leaned into the Dwarf, just a little. 

He jolted, knocking her off, and she began to stand up before he hissed, “Wh— How’d you do that?!”

Frowning, she dusted herself off and sat next to him again. “Do what?”

“You came out of nowhere, that’s what!” _Nowhere?_

“I’m fairly sure I came from about five feet thataway.” Her sword was digging into her side with how she was half-sitting on it, and she adjusted it, only to stop as she and Bofur simultaneously froze. A faint blue glow was emanating from the blade, and Thorin roared for the Company to wake an instant before the floor caved in and they all fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seemed really rushed, but I am -not- good at action scenes. I'm not sure I'm 'good', per se, at the rest, but I know I'm not with these. Also, can we have a moment of silence for Thorin's murder face? I'm not sure about canon, but in my 'verse, he's not always as angry as he looks, it's just that he has a really unfortunate rbf (or rmf, in this case) so it takes people a long time to be able to read him, if at all. Too bad for Bella she's not quite there yet, it would've cleared up a lot.
> 
> Also, thank you lionesspuma, I've decided Kítos is an OFC. She's mostly fanon!Ori, but I think I changed enough of her personality to merit a distinction.


	15. Gamekhsasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author tells you literally nothing about the Dwarves for three-fourths of the chapter.

They slid and bounced and plummeted until Bella hardly knew which way was up and they landed heavily in a crude cage. Mountain-Orcs swarmed around them; Bella, feeling faint, offered no resistance, and was soon ignored in favor of the more interesting Dwarves. Dropping to a crouch, the Orcs, as she hoped, failed to even notice, and left her behind. Shakily, she rose to her feet and drew her sword. The glow was more disheartening than comforting when she knew she was surrounded, but it reminded her of Arathorn and the twins. She clung to the thought of them, and of the boys, and stuffed all the supplies she could into her pack, as well as two more she picked up, then tied all three packs around her waist and moved cautiously forward. _They wouldn't leave me behind; I won’t leave the Company_. The first thought was more flimsy than it would have been a day earlier, but that didn't matter. The Orcs would have to tear her limb from limb to keep her away from the Company, keep her from rescuing them. A soft noise was all the warning she got before an Orc dropped to the platform in front of her, but it was enough for her to get her blade in an angle that Fíli and Kíli insisted would save her life someday. _Here's hoping they were right_. She ached everywhere from the fall, but ignored the pain to instead straighten and grip the sword tighter. The creature rushed at her, swinging its own blade, and she desperately parried as best she could. As she backed away, she realized too late that she wasn’t sure where the edge of the platform was, and when the Orc jumped at her, the two of them both tumbled into the darkness.

A pounding headache slowly filled her awareness. She opened her eyes to see the Orc’s body through a hole in the rubble that covered her. A soft, hoarse panting drew near, and a small, emaciated figure appeared, crawling easily on the stone. Something about it made her skin crawl, and she held her breath, motionless and desperately hoping it wouldn't see her.

“Yes, yes!” It coughed wetly, then began to drag the barely-conscious Orc away. The Orc woke, and while they fought, a golden ring seemed to leap out of the figure’s clothing and clattered to the ground. Bella stared at it for some time, and when she looked up, the figure and Orc both were gone. Cautiously, she shook off the rubble, which seemed to be some sort of fungus, and she lifted a hand to her temple to feel blood trickling out of a thankfully small wound. She snatched her hand away. _Who knows what kind of filth I’m covered in? I don’t need to rub it into any open wounds; I’ll be lucky not to fall ill as it is_. She found her sword easily, due to the glow, and went to the ring. 

It was surprisingly clean, and perfectly formed. As she picked it up, she heard the voice of the figure in the distance. Glancing around the area, she saw that it was effectively as much of a cage as the one she’d fallen into earlier. _Well, there’s nowhere else to go_. Gritting her teeth, she tucked the ring safely in her pocket and moved toward the sound, sword firmly in hand and ready to fight. The closer she drew, the better she could hear a thumping noise under the figure’s singing. As she neared it, it glanced toward her from a rock in the middle of a lake, and she hid. The glow of her blade flickered, then stopped completely; at the same time, the thumping stopped, and she swallowed, realizing  it had killed the Orc. Her heart thudded, pounded, and she could hardly hear anything over the sound, but some instinct led her to look up just as the figure climbed on top of the crag she was hiding under. It jumped down, and she pointed her sword at it reflexively.

“Well, bless us and splash us, precious; that’s a meaty mouthful!” It moved toward her, and she jabbed it lightly with the sword. It coughed again, but retreated when Bella moved towards it.

“Back. Stay back.” Her voice and blade shook alike, but the figure didn't attack. It moved away, circling so that the water was to their sides rather than Bella’s back. As it moved, Bella realized that it was about her size, maybe a little shorter, but so thin that its bones jutted out of its skin. If it hadn't been for the Orcish malevolence in its eyes when it jumped down, Bella might have felt sorry for it.

“It’s got an Elvish blade, but it’s not an Elfs. Not an Elfs, no. What is it, precious?” It turned to look at her, bewildered. “What is it?”

“What I am is none of your concern,” Bella began. _Whatever this thing is, it killed an Orc, and would've killed me. Anything intelligent enough to ask what it’s eating is trouble for sure_. “Except lost. There must be a way out of here.”

“Ooh! We knows!” The figure suddenly looked younger, more child-like. The change unsettled Bella almost as much as the first personality had. “We knows safe paths for Precious. Safe paths in the dark!” It pointed across the lake, then darkened and turned away. “Shut up!”

Bella blinked, feeling her hands start to shake as she grew more and more tense. “I didn’t say anything.”

It glared at her. “We wasn’t talking to you.” It ducked under a rock, but she could hear the child-voice say plaintively, “But yes, we was, Precious, we was.”

“Look,” Bella tried to put all the steel Thorin wielded so effortlessly into her voice. “I don’t know what your game is, but—”

It gasped. “Games?” It hopped onto the rock and bobbed its head. “We love games, doesn’t we, Precious? Does it like games? Does it? Does it? Does it like to play?” Precious, or whatever it called itself, sounded disturbingly like some of her little cousins.

 _This thing is dangerous. If it goes back to the first voice it’ll probably try to kill me. But if I can keep it distracted_ …“Maybe.”

Precious raised its hands happily, then spoke carefully, grinning all the while. “What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees. Up, up, up, it goes, and yet, never grows.” It finished and stared at her challengingly.

“The mountain.” _Is that the best it can do?_

Precious laughed, “Yes, oh, let’s have another one. Yes, come on, do it again, do it again. Ask us!” Its face changed, darkened, and Bella knew before it spoke that the first voice was back. “No! No more riddles!” It jumped off the rock, past Bella, and she spun to keep it in sight. It crept away, muttering all the while. “Finish it off. Finish it now!” It coughed again, and began to rush toward her, but she held her hand, and sword, out, and kept an easy smile on her face. 

“No! No, no, I want to play. I do. I want to play.” It, _Gollum, maybe?_ , ducked its head, and Bella hurried to find the words, though she still picked them carefully. “I can see you are… very good at this,” Precious raised its head, smiling, “So, why don’t we have a little game of riddles? Just you and me?” She knelt, keeping her sword between them, but Precious didn't seem to mind. 

It scuttled toward her, but with a face so open that Bella felt no more threatened by it than by one of her cousins. “Yes!” It looked back and forth as though making sure Gollum wasn’t eavesdropping. “Yes, just us.”

“Yes,” Bella smiled, keeping every trace of fear off her face, “Yes, and if I win, you show me the way out, yes?”

Precious nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes—” It ducked under a rock suddenly.

“And if it loses?” Gollum’s voice made her tighten her grip on her sword. “What then?”

Precious’s reply made her blood run cold. “Well, if it loses, precious, we will eats it!” The creature emerged from the rock, and Bella made sure that her smile was still open and friendly. “If you loses, we eats it whole.” Precious bobbed its head to the side as if to say ‘sorry, but needs must’.

Bella examined its face for a moment. _Well, if it comes to a fight, I might be able to kill it before it kills me._ “Fair enough.” She stood and sheathed her sword, hoping the action would put Precious at ease more than it spurred Gollum on.

“Well, you first.”

Bella took a deep breath, then began. “Thirty white horses on a red hill,/ First they champ,/ Then they stamp,/ Then they stand still.”

Precious thought. It opened and closed its mouth several times before venturing, “Teeth?” Bella’s face fell. _It’s only got about six, how’d it guess so fast?_ “Teeth! Yes, my Precious,” It laughed, “But we,” Gollum took over the sentence, “only have nine.” Growling, it opened its mouth to show off nine short, sharp little teeth. Gollum continued. “Our turn. Voiceless it cries,/ Wingless flutters,/ Toothless bites,/ Mouthless mutters.” _…What?_  

Bella held up a finger with a thoughtful expression. “Just a moment.” She walked away, hoping she wasn’t tempting Gollum, and heard Precious exclaim ‘we knows’ only for Gollum to hiss ‘shut up’. She ignored it as best she could and watched the light bounce off the water. The light, broken by… little waves… “Wind. It’s wind!” 

She turned to see Gollum creeping toward her, malevolence rolling off of it. “Very clever, very clever.” It crawled toward her faster, only to stop as she drew her sword and, again, pointed it at its throat.

Bella thought frantically, knowing her best chance to stump it was to make something up. “An eye in a blue face/ Saw an eye in a green face./ ‘That eye is like this eye’/ Said the first eye,/ ‘But in low place,/ Not in high place.’”

Gollum thought. It thought for so long, in fact, that Bella started to worry it would decide to just eat her anyway. “Yes, my Precious,” It grinned at her. “Sun on the daisies it means, it does.” Bella kept her blade pointed at it, but a bat flew by, distracting her, and when she looked back, Gollum was gone. “We have one for you,” Its voice echoed from all around her. 

As surreptitiously as she could, Bella looked for somewhere it wouldn't be able to sneak up on her. “All things it devours,/ Birds, beasts, trees, flowers,/ Gnaws iron, bites steel,/ Grinds hard stones to meal,/ Slays kings, ruins towns,/ Beats high mountains down.” She saw a rock, just taller than her, and headed toward it, backing up, spinning, keeping up the pretense that she was trying to find Gollum. _I don’t need to find it if it finds me, and with my back to that, I won’t be able to see it coming, but I’ll have my sword ready to strike_. “Is it tasty? Is it scrumptious?” Bella felt her heel brush the rock and leaned fully against it. “Is it crunchable?” Cold fingers brushed Bella’s neck as hot, rancid breath skated over her ear and she spun, moving away, but kept Gollum solidly within view.

“Let me think.” She lowered her blade, keeping it aimed toward Gollum.

As she thought, Gollum hissed gleefully, “It’s stuck.” He grinned at her, but didn't move from his perch on the rock. _Iron, stone, mountains, no living creature could do that… except nothing it’s asked so far has been anything living. A mountain, the wind. And it didn't say ‘kill’, it said ‘devour’. What devours? What beats a mountain?_ After she had thought for a few more seconds, it said, “Time’s up.” 

 _Nothing beats a mountain except_ “Time.” Gollum froze. “The answer is time.” The creature snarled, then hissed, “Last question. Last chance.” Its hand crept to its side and softly picked up a good sized rock surreptitiously, obviously thinking that Bella couldn't see wh— _… Wait. Question?_

Bella hid her smile and pretended to think. “…What have I got in my pocket?”

Gollum’s face fell, and it whined, “That’s not fair; it’s against the rules!” It threw the rock, barely missing Bella, but she didn't flinch, just watched the creature. “Ask us another one!”

“No, no. You said ‘ask me a question’, well, that’s my question. What have I got in my pocket?” The creature growled and jumped to the ground. 

“Three guesses, Precious, it must give us three.” It held up two fingers, but Bella doubted anything good would come of her pointing that out.

 _Fair enough._ “Very well, three guesses.” It spun immediately and pointed at her.

“Handses!” 

Bella held up one hand and kept the sword pointed at Gollum with the other one. “Wrong, guess again.”

It snarled, throwing a miniature temper tantrum, and ran through half a dozen items Bella didn't bother to count before Precious turned to face her and yelled, “Knife!” As soon as the word was out, Gollum growled, “Oh, shut up.”

Carefully, Bella pitched her voice to cut through its complaining. “Wrong again. Last guess.”

“String!” Precious spun around, and Gollum pointed at her threateningly. “Or nothing.”

“Two guesses at once, and both wrong.” Gollum fell over and sobbed on the floor. _Or is that Precious?_ It was hard to tell when it was turned away. Bella took a few steps closer, cautiously. “Come on, then. I won the game, you promised to show me the way out.” 

Abruptly, it stopped sobbing and slowly straightened. “Did we say so, Precious? Did we say so?” The question was a low hiss, likely not meant to be heard by any but Gollum, but Bella heard, and raised her sword at the dark tone. It turned to face her, glaring more fiercely than even Thorin could have managed. “What has it got in its pocketses?”

Bella felt cold. _I don’t know exactly what I’ve got in my pocket, but if you want it, you won’t get it_. “That’s no concern of yours. You lost.”

Gollum advanced, and despite herself, Bella backed away a few steps. “Lost? Lost?!” It touched its belt, and all the violence left its face. Frantically, it started running its hands over the belt, on either side. “Where is it?” It began to rummage through the bones and rags in the alcove, even splashing in the shallows. “Lost! Curses and splashes, my Precious is lost!” Its voice dissolved into sobs at the last words, and silently, Bella eased the ring out of her pocket and held it behind her back.

“What have you lost?”

“Mustn’t ask us! Not its business.” Gradually, as Bella edged away, its voice darkened, losing the sorrow and rapidly gaining suspicion. “What has it gots in its pocketses?” It turned to look at her, eyes narrowing. “It stole it from us. It stole it!” It threw a rock at her, and Bella ran. She knew full well that she was no expert with a sword. She had held her own against the Orc, before, but Gollum was another matter. It was angrier, it was insane, and it was desperate; any of those would have made it more dangerous than ever. The combination made it a foe Bella had no intention of fighting. Bella ducked into the first entrance she saw, and found a small cave, not nearly big enough to hid in. As Gollum noisily approached, she froze, and the creature ran past. There was a crack in the wall across from her, and she padded to it quickly, untying the packs and tossing them through first. As she squeezed through herself, Gollum came into the cave. _Why couldn't I have eaten a little less at Rivendell?_ The buttons on her waistcoat scraped against the rock, and several on her bust popped off entirely, hitting Gollum in the face. He snarled, and reached for her, but she tripped over a pack and flung the ring into the air. With a sudden desperation, she reached to grab it, but, by no doing of hers, it landed on her finger rather than in her hand. The world faded, Gollum’s cries echoed; a moment later, the foul creature was through the crack and Bella raised her sword, but it ran past her, calling “Thief!” _It can’t see me. It doesn’t know where I am, and if it’s heading that way_ — Silently, she retrieved the packs and followed the screams to their source, and, she was sure, to the exit.

Gollum burst through a hole in a wall to another corridor, lit by fire or sun or moon, Bella couldn't tell, but there was definitely light, and it was coming from further down the passage, out of Bella’s sight. With a panicked expression, Gollum scrambled back through the hole and sat with its back to it, facing Bella. Footsteps neared, and suddenly Gandalf was standing on the other side, and beckoning the Dwarves, _my Dwarves, my boys_ , toward the light. Bella grinned, relieved. _If Gandalf’s heading that way, it has to be the exit_. But Gollum still sat in the way. Once they’d all gone, it turned to look into the corridor, and Bella stepped closer, lifting her sword to put it out of its misery, eliminate any chance it could follow her to take back the ring. But then it turned toward her, with a look so lost, so broken, so… Hobbitish, that Bella paused. _He’s as lost as I was._ She lifted her blade again, but, again, stopped. She stared at him for a moment. _I can’t kill him._ She straightened a little, and lowered her sword. _I won’t kill him_. She stepped back, carefully, and took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure what, but something seemed to catch Gollum’s attention, and his mouth moved into a snarl. Before he could do anything more, she ran at him and jumped, kicking him a little as she did, but landed on the other side unharmed, and ran for the exit, ignoring his raging screams.

She ran down the woodland, catching sight of the Dwarves every now and again, but slowed as she heard, faintly, “Where is our Hobbit?!” The voice was Gandalf’s, though it took a second for her to place it, and a moment later, she heard Dwalin snarl.

“Curse the Hobbit. Now she’s lost?!” If she was close enough to hear them, she was close enough that they could help if Gollum came after her; she sheathed her sword.

“I thought she was with Dori!” _Gloin, I think._ She crept closer.

“Don’t blame me!”

“Well, where did you last see her?” _Oh, thank you Gandalf, that doesn’t make me sound like a bit of lost luggage at_ _all_.

“I think I saw her slip away when they first collared us.” Nori’s voice surprised her. _I didn’t think anyone was looking_.

“Well, what happened exactly? Tell me!”

Thorin spoke just as the Company came into view. “I’ll tell you what happened. Mistress Baggins saw her chance and she took it!” Thorin looked almost broken, under the anger, and Bella hid behind a tree. _Coward. Rather hide, while invisible, than look your accuser in the eye?_ “She’s thought of nothing but her soft bed and warm hearth since first she stepped out of her door. We will not be seeing our Hobbit again.” He paused. His voice had gotten so close that Bella had wondered if she should move, but then it faded again as he turned away. “She is long gone.”

 _Is that what he thinks of me? When have I ever acted like that? Have I— Oh, Queen, I’ve bungled this, haven't I?_ Thorin was right, after all. She had no idea what she was doing, and she didn't fit in with the others.

But she didn't regret coming. She had helped, if only marginally, with the Trolls; she’d long since begun to feel more at home with other races than with other Hobbits; she’d enjoyed herself more with three Dwarves twice her age and simultaneously barely older than her than she had with her own blood-kin since she was a fauntling. Even after seeing the Orcs, she knew that she had done the right thing in agreeing to Gandalf’s insanity. She took a deep breath, then took the ring off, slipped it into her pocket, and stepped out from behind the tree before she could second-guess herself.

“No, she isn’t.” The look on Thorin’s face nearly made her regret the decision. He didn't look relieved, he looked distraught. 

But Gandalf chuckled as he spoke, and the rest of the Company looked happy to see her, so she put Thorin out of her mind. “Bella Baggins! I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.” 

She stepped into the middle of the group as Kíli, then Fíli, rushed forward and hugged her as they spoke. “Bella, we’d given you up!”

“How on earth did you get past the Goblins?” Sandwiched between the boys, she couldn't help but see Dwalin’s suspicious face.

“How indeed?”

She chuckled, more touched than she had expected at the boys’ show of affection, and said, a bit thickly, “Well, it’s a bit of a long story, but believe me, I didn't miss any excitement.”

“What does it matter?” Kíli lifted his head from where it had been resting on hers, and she guessed he was glaring at Dwalin. Fíli mirrored his brother, but sounded much happier than the brunet.

“She’s back!”

Thorin glared at the two of them, and they loosened their hold on Bella slightly, just enough for the loss of heat to make her shiver. “It matters.” He sounded almost surprised that they would ask. “I want to know—” He met her eyes, and his voice dropped lower. “Why did you come back?”

She stepped away from the boys, and their arms fell away from her, reluctantly, but Bella didn't look away from Thorin. “Because you’re right. I often think of Bag-End. I miss my books, and my hearth, and my garden.” Annoyingly, her eyes began to well up, and she brushed at them as she spoke, still refusing to look away from Thorin’s electric-blue eyes. “But I can’t go home. I left it behind, willingly. I came along, willingly. My home is gone, and I can never go back, but your home is waiting for you. You didn't have a choice when you left it, and there may be a dragon in the way, but it’s there. And I’ll do whatever I can to help you take it back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bella said to tell you she hates this chapter. Gotta say, I do too. I don't really know why; the writing's fine, as far as I can judge, Gollum/Smeagol is one of my favorite characters in LoTR, but I just get really tired of Riddles in the Dark, even when I'm writing them. And, of course, it only occurred to me that I could have just made up some reason to have her *not* to go through this like two months after I wrote this and tied it into the rest of the story. Figures.  
> So, I'm sure a lot of you are wondering why there are Orcs in Goblin-Town, and the answer is... There aren't. That is, according to canon/Tolkien/me, Goblins and Orcs are the same race, and 'Goblin' is just the Hobbitish word for them; I've decided that for the purposes of this fic, there are multiple sub-species of Orc, depending on what they were before Melkor corrupted them/where they settled in the last few millennia, and so 'Goblins' are either Hobbits or Dwarrow that were turned into Orcs, then settled in the Mountains, while Orcs like Azog used to be Elves/Men and settled in the Plains and Forests and such. Convoluted enough for you? Good!  
> Also, if Thorin's criticism of her seems a little out of place here, you're right, it is. He's being unfair and he knows it, and he'll regret it in a few minutes, as usual.


	16. Ges'sasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reveal time. Not sure how 'big' is it, but I'll leave that up to you.

Thorin was dumbfounded. Around him, the Company muttered, but he could only focus on the tiny, _amazing_ , woman in front of him. Each member of his Company had pledged their loyalty and honor to this quest, but here, a young Hobbit spoke as eloquently as any of them had, and more so than some. She had no obligation here, no real ties, but she stayed. He had feared the worst, had feared that she didn't return his affections, but… 

The day before, on the mountain, all it had taken was the barest brush of his hand against her ice-cold arm, _of course it had to be while we were about to fall off a cliff,_ and the world had exploded. The rocks grew bluer, the moonlight brighter, everything he could see stunning him into losing his grip. If Dwalin hadn't been there, Thorin would have fallen. As his friend hauled him up, Thorin had found himself staring at the contrast between his head and tattoos. Then, once he was on his feet again, he had turned, to see the Burglar, vibrant and breathtaking, even soaking wet, and her hair, her eyes, everything about her had stayed striking, bold, painted by Mahal himself as the world around her washed out and returned to the same dim colors as it usually bore. Even as he wondered at how the world he’d spent a lifetime looking at now seemed insufficient, he felt it settle into his bones: she was his One. 

She was the One he’d spent the first twenty years of his life waiting for, and the next century and a half hoping would never appear, never see him fallen. She was the One he’d hoped to meet after Erebor was reclaimed and he was a King, deserving of the woman he was sure would be a Queen, or a Master Craftswoman, or something equally grandiose. This tiny, common Hobbit woman, who loved his nephews as dearly as he did, who could talk Trolls out of their dinner, who sassed Elves and embraced them in equal measure, who didn't understand people’s concern over her but leapt to defend them, who made his heart race, she was his One, and he knew without a doubt, he would never deserve her, could never deserve her. And as he looked at her, on the mountain, he knew, equally well, that she saw nothing. The world was the same to her as always; she saw none of the colors that would taunt Thorin every time he looked at her. She was his One, but he wasn’t hers. He spoke, then, harshly, more so than he’d meant to, but in that moment, he’d wanted nothing more than to have left her safe at home, and never have had to lose her before he even got her.

When he and Dwalin moved ahead of the others, his friend had used the opportunity to question him. “What happened back there? The Burglar’s done nothing to deserve a rebuke like that.” Thorin had leaned heavily against the wall of the cave, feeling as though he’d been gutted.

“She’s my One.” Dwalin had been speechless for a long moment, and Thorin decided then was as good a time as any to question him in retaliation. “And when did you find your One? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The Dwarf had settled next to Thorin. “I found her just before we began this quest. There hasn’t been time.” Dwalin’s words were slow, quiet, and utterly unlike him.

“What aren't you saying?”

Dwalin was silent for a moment, then spoke so quietly Thorin had strained to hear him. “She’s barely a hundred, Thorin. I can barely look at her.”

Thorin had huffed. “My One is forty-one, Dwalin. If anyone is a cradle-robber here, it’s not you.”

They’d stood in silence until they heard the others coming, then Dwalin spoke. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”

“No. And I’m not planning on telling the others.” Dwalin had nodded in a wordless agreement not to say anything, all that they’d had time for before the Company started filing in, the Hobbit last and avoiding Thorin’s eyes.

He’d felt as though the Goblins had impaled him when he realized that she wasn’t with them in the caves, but had hoped, desperately, that she was on her way to Rivendell. Elves may only be slightly preferable to Goblins, but they would protect her. When she stepped out from behind the tree, his heart had plummeted. She was alive, she was here, but she was still in danger, would be in danger for as long as he kept her with him, but then she spoke. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her the entire time, and had seen every tear, every flinch as she spoke of her home, _why can’t she go back?_ , but also the resolution and the defiance as she finished. He was still looking at her, as a matter of fact, and saw that she had a small cut on her temple, scarlet red, partially hidden under her golden hair. He wanted, suddenly, desperately, to run his fingers over it, to kiss it, _to kiss_ _her_ , to have Oin pile bandages and poultices and medicines on her until there was no possibility that she would ever be sick another day in her life, but an instant later he realized that it had already clotted over, already begun to heal. His gaze lowered to her face and he had begun to smile when she winced. 

He frowned. He’d heard nothing, seen nothing that would cause her pain. She flinched again, and seemed to be holding back a stronger reaction, when shock and terror filled her eyes. “Orcs.” The word was whispered, but the entire Company turned to look at her. A moment later, howling came from the top of the mountain.

“Run!” Gandalf’s bellow was unnecessary. The Company was already moving; the Burglar had begun moving as soon as she spoke. _How did she know?_ She was in front of Thorin as he ran, but soon he lost sight of her as he dodged wargs. He slowed as the rest of the Company reached the trees at the edge of the cliff, and unsheathed Orcrist to buy them a few seconds— _Where’s Bella?_ His heart stopped. He spun, desperately searching the tree line in the fading light, and finally saw her, bent double, stumbling to a stop with a warg charging behind her. Before it could attack, Thorin drove his sword into its head and pulled it out with a grunt. His One was curled up on the ground, eyes open but unseeing. Quickly, he sheathed his sword and picked her up, grabbing the packs as an afterthought, and huddled her against his chest as he ran back to the trees. _She barely weighs anything_. Her ashen face was contorted into a grimace, and she convulsed every few seconds, bucking as though taking a lash. Her back felt strangely warm in places, while her arms and legs were startlingly cold.

“There’s something wrong with the Burglar!” Dwalin thudded to the ground, pulling out his axes, and nodded for Thorin to climb. Fíli and Kíli quickly clambered into the last tree on the cliff until they were low enough that they and Thorin could pass the Burglar and packs back and forth, gaining height as they did, until Thorin and his nephews were safely in the tree, the now-whimpering woman safe in Thorin’s arms as she thrashed. The sound clawed at his heart. It was the same constrained, helpless noise she made as she slept, but now, even holding her to him as he was, she couldn't be soothed, only restrained. Dwalin called back from his perch in another tree, further ahead, “Someone’s approaching!” Thorin could just barely see a pale figure through the leaves. As it drew nearer, the Hobbit’s back grew hotter and the fabric above her heart started to smolder, her whimpering grew into agonized groans, and tears poured down her cheeks; Thorin barely held back tears of his own. By the time it emerged into view, just in front of the tree Dwalin was in, Bella sounded a hair’s-breadth away from full screams. The sight of the warg-rider was the only thing that could have taken Thorin’s attention away from her.

“ **Do you smell it? The scent of fear?** ” As Azog spoke in Black Speech, Thorin felt numb, as though he would drift away in the wind. _She was right_. Only the still, distraught woman in his arms kept him from falling out of the tree entirely. “ **I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin son of Thrain**.” _My father— no, you can’t have! Mahal, please._ _It cannot be._ Azog’s eyes fell on the Hobbit. “ **And that one’s fear is familiar. Have you returned my property, Dwarf**?” He sneered at Thorin. _Property?_ With a casual gesture, he waved the Orcs forward. “ **Those ones are mine. Kill the others!** ”

The wargs rushed forward, clawing and biting at the trees, and the trees further up began to tip. As they fell, Dwalin and the other members of the Company jumped from tree to tree until all eleven were in the same tree as the Durins and Bella. She was breathing shakily, but had stopped convulsing after Azog spoke, and Thorin held her closer to his chest as the others, spurred by Gandalf, started to throw flaming pinecones at the wargs. Several of the beasts caught on fire themselves, and all of them fled behind the fire. The tree suddenly leaned over the cliff, and Ori yelled, followed quickly by Dori. Thorin couldn't see what happened, as he clung to the bark, his One held securely to him, but he heard their distress.

“Th— Thorin, what… where are we?” Bella’s voice was trembling, almost inaudible over the screams of wargs and Dwarrow alike, but with her face inches from Thorin’s, he couldn't have ignored her if he tried. She struggled weakly, and Thorin loosened his hold so that she could sit up and hold onto the tree herself. 

“ **I tire of this.** ” At Azog’s voice, Bella froze, eyes wide and staring at Thorin’s hand where it rested on the hilt of Orcrist. “ **Bring me the Dwarf’s head.** ” Involuntarily, Thorin drew his sword an inch or so before shoving it back in.

“Thorin, you can’t!” _I have to protect her, have to keep the Orcs away. If I kill Azog, that’ll destabilize the rest enough for the Company to escape._

“Kíli, keep her safe.” Kíli, next to him on the branch, nodded resolutely and reached for the Burglar. Before he could, she darted onto the trunk and stood on legs that quavered unsettlingly for standing above a drop such as this. 

Her expression was one of broken defiance, and she roared angrily, desperately at Azog, “ **A decade wasn’t long enough, you want the rest of my life, too? Are you so weak to need an army to retrieve one slave? Are you such a coward that you can’t get me yourself?** ” The Orc bellowed and made an indistinct gesture. Bella’s legs gave out and Thorin barely managed to grab her as she screamed, a blood-curdling, heart-wrenching sound. The fabric above her heart again smoldered, and this time burned away, revealing two words in Black Speech scarred there, glowing ember-hot. Kíli tried to help hold her, and yelped as similar wounds on her back scorched his hands.

“ **Be careful, Durin-spawn. That one will die at my hands, and no one else’s.** ” Thorin calmed abruptly. There was no fear, no desperation, no panic, only an all-encompassing rage that stilled his hands and gave him new balance as he gently handed the Hobbit to Fíli, drew his sword, and faced Azog. Bella’s screams petered out hoarsely, though a glance back showed Thorin that only the sound had ceased, not the action, not the pain. His nephews let their tears flow freely at the Hobbit’s suffering, but they would keep her safe; Thorin knew that as surely as he knew he would die fighting Azog. 

One by one, the other Dwarrow, save his nephews and the brothers dangling from Gandalf’s staff, drew their weapons and glared hatefully at the Defiler. In all the time Thorin had known them, the only ones to share his hatred of Azog were Balin and Dwalin, as they had fought with him at Moria. They had seen the Orc for themselves. To the others Azog was nothing more than a bogey-man; but now he tortured a member of their Company. Now he grinned as the woman they all cared for screamed. Now, Thorin saw, every member of the Company would see the Defiler die, painfully and slowly. Thorin moved down the trunk, picking up speed and fighters as he went, until nine Dwarrow were charging the Orcs. As they fought, Thorin paid little attention to the grunts in front of him, although he slew them automatically; all of his focus was on getting to Azog _and making him scream, make him suffer, hold him in the fire and watch as he burns_. As the Defiler met his eyes and Thorin grinned, a talon swept an Orc down.

Thorin came to a stunned stop, and watched as huge Eagles flew across the battlefield, plucking Orcs from the ground and flinging them off the edge. The remaining Orcs fled with the Defiler, and Thorin’s mind whirled. Blinding pain erupted in his shoulder as a warg rushed over his head, and he fell, barely holding onto his shield. Looking up at the sky, he could see the Eagles carry his Company to safety, and felt immeasurably relieved that they, at least, would survive this. _Go, and tell your families you survived the would-be king of Erebor’s stupidity_.

An Eagle lowered gracefully to Thorin, talons stretching toward him, another above him, carrying Bella. _Bella_. Thorin closed his eyes as the Eagle lifted him, tears streaming down his cheeks. _She’s safe, Mahal, thank you, thank you_. As they ascended, Thorin bit his cheek trying to hold back the pain. He tasted blood, and opened his eyes, searching for Bella’s. _If this is how she felt_ … She was dangling from the other Eagle's grip limply, eyes unseeing as they had been when he found her so long ago. _Or was it? Mahal, that couldn't have been half an hour ago_. As he watched, as the minutes ticked away, her fingers twitched, then her mouth, then her eyes; finally she inhaled a huge, gulping breath, twisting and looking around frantically. 

“Bella! BELLA!” She jerked around and met his eyes, the wind whipping loose strands of hair into her face, but Thorin didn't think for a second that she saw him. Her eyes were filled with the same shadows that he had seen on the battlefields at Moria, in the faces of soldiers who couldn't tell friend from foe, family from enemy. But she kept staring at him, seeing what, he didn't know, but gradually her eyes cleared and her breathing slowed. The shadows didn't leave, not completely, but retreated until she seemed to recognize him, and relaxed marginally, still looking into his eyes.  

Thorin caught sight of other Eagles out of the corner of his eye, and looked ruefully away from his One toward the movement to see the Eagles setting his Company down on a spindling rock. By the time the Eagle carrying Thorin and Bella reached the rock, all of the Dwarves were waiting to receive them, and split nearly evenly into two groups as they took them; both of his nephews, as well as Gandalf, were waiting for the Hobbit. Thorin didn't care. She needed their aid more than he did. Oin, surprisingly, was in Thorin’s half, and was cutting away Thorin’s sleeve before he could protest.

“She’s not the one bleeding out, laddie.” With that, the healer closed his mouth and refused to open it again. Thorin sufficed himself with the fact that Tharkûn was attending Bella personally, although Thorin couldn't see her through the mass of Dwarrow surrounding her. Finally, Oin finished bandaging Thorin’s shoulder and pushed toward the Burglar. As the circle opened to let him through, Thorin saw that she was sitting on the stone, a blanket… no, that was a cloak, held gingerly to her chest, one of his nephews on either side of her, holding her up so that her back was off the rock. With some difficulty, Thorin stood. He walked toward Tharkûn, and the Dwarrow parted as he approached.

“What were you doing?” He knew he sounded harsh, but he couldn't help it. As soon as he saw her sitting there, the memory of her yelling at Azog, in fluent Black Speech, no less, returned in full force. It made him shake, and he clenched his fists to try and calm the tremors. “You could have died. Did I not say that you would be a burden, that you had no place amongst us?” She met his gaze stoically, though her ears betrayed what was either anger or fear, even as the boys protested on her behalf. But they fell silent a moment later as Thorin thudded to his knees before her. “I have never been so wrong in all my life.” Slowly, he reached forward, the tips of his fingers settling delicately on either side of the hinge of her jaw, and leaned forward until his forehead gently touched hers as the Company cheered. His skin burned where it touched hers, making even his shoulder feel numb in comparison, _Zhauthiet, that’s what she called it_ , and the concern that had barely abated flared anew as he felt how cold she was. But he forced the feeling down. _Oin will have noticed, and he hasn’t, I’ll make sure he does_. Her eyes closed, as did his, but he felt her lean into him and sigh. “I am sorry I doubted you.” 

His words were soft, but he opened his eyes to see her smiling at him. _By Mahal, you’re beautiful_. She was filthy, cheeks tear-stained, and was covered in scratches from the bark, but she was beautiful. She faced Azog, took unimaginable pain, and still smiled. _I don’t deserve you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DundunDUUNN! So, were ya surprised? I was trying to make it a big, shocking reveal, but I think I might have foreshadowed too much. Eh. As long as you guys like the chapter, I guess. More info will be given in upcoming chapters, but comment whatever questions you have; there might be something I forgot to put in. Also, Thorin and Dwalin's conversation: the reason Dwalin has the line about 'her' (I think you've probably all figured out who 'she' is) barely being a hundred, is that with Dwarves, most Ones are 20-30 years apart. 30-40 is semi common, 40-60 is starting to get weird, and given that Dwalin is freaking 85 years older than 'her', it's basically comparable with a 60-year-old falling for a 20-year-old. It's not illegal, she's a full adult, and old enough to know whether or not she wants to wait, but Dwalin (and Thorin, for that matter, and even more so, in his case) is honorable enough that it makes him *really* uncomfortable. Basically, Dwalin and Thorin are attracted to their Ones, understandably (and rightly, given that they're soulmates) but then they remember the age gap and feel like giant pervs. The girls have no such problem, but c'est la vie. Two last things: if Thorin came across as a little sappy towards the end, it's 'cause he was. Dude has an itty-bitty concussion, so cut him some slack. Lastly, you know that trope where forehead touching equals kissing for Dwarves? Yeeaahhh... Thorin's gon' get it from Dwalin, Balin, his nephews, etc. Bella's got a lotta friends in this Company.  
> Next chapter: Bella PoV, aka ANGST  
> P.S., from this point on, anything in bold is Black Speech, even if I don't point that out; same deal as with Elvish, basically. That's all for now!


	17. Hadedsasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliff aftermath; the Dwarves finally know the right questions to ask; Bella gets closure.

Adjusting her blanket, Bella groaned quietly. Kítos heard, and started to turn toward her, but Bella shook her head, and the Dwarrowdam hesitantly rejoined the discussion currently being shouted back and forth by the rest of the Dwarves. Bella didn't bother to listen in. They’d been yelling about the same thing since Thorin had released her and stood: whether to carry her down the Carrock, as Gandalf called it, tonight, or to spend the night here and carry her down in the morning. At first she’d tried to protest that her legs weren’t injured, and that if she spent the night on rock her back would only stiffen until she could hardly move, but they ignored her. After all, she was ‘critically wounded’. 

Thinking of the wound, Bella drew the blanket away from her chest until the moonlight fell on the injury. Bella hissed softly as the motion strained her back, but didn't falter. She examined it as best she could, seeing that it was worse than the last time. The words had faded back to their normal red, looking like they’d been carved there days ago rather than years, but the skin around them was blistered, even black in a few places. It would heal quickly, Bella knew, but right now what she needed was to move around, not be sitting on freezing stone while the blisters hardened. 

Holding back the pained cries that gathered behind her lips, she stood and dropped the cloak, feeling the breeze against the skin on her back. The fabric had burned away there, too, leaving her clothing in shreds mostly held up by sheer Baggins stubbornness. Silently, she padded to the edge of the Carrock, to the stairs that Gloin had found moments after Bifur had pointed out the Lonely Mountain in the distance, not that Bella had seen it. They’d all clustered at the front of the rock and blocked her view. 

Moving smoothly, neither favoring her wounds nor striding as she would have the day before, she turned around and began descending the steps backwards, using them as hand- and foot-holds rather than walking down. Her lips twitched briefly into a smile; her feet were painfully small, by Hobbit standards, but they were big enough for this. They were also the biggest in the Company, proportionally, but she didn't think about that when she could help it. Her voice was still raw, but she began humming as she climbed, doing her best to ignore the pain. By the time the Dwarves realized she was gone, she’d gotten a good sixty feet down. She couldn't make out the words, but she heard yelling, especially from Bofur and Kítos. Fíli called out, and she looked up to see his head poking over the edge. 

Kíli and Thorin quickly joined him, the latter shouting at her. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

She yelled back hoarsely, “Sorry, can’t hear you! You’ll have to get a bit closer!” She kept climbing as they swore at her, quite creatively, and had gained another fifteen feet by the time she saw Kíli descending the stairs after her. He chose to do it the normal way, however, and so it took him until they were only thirty feet or so from the bottom to catch up to her. The rest of the Company had started to descend as well, but the next-closest, Bofur, wasn’t even in sight at the moment, as the stairs wound around the rock and he was currently on the opposite side. She’d been singing softly for ten minutes or so, a nonsense song she’d written with the twins, albeit one with some truth in it. She’d repeated it over and over, and knew that Kíli would be asking about the lyrics, or at least the last verse, once he had half a chance, but at this point, she really didn't care. It had kept her sane then, it was doing the same now.

But now he was finally close enough that she couldn't keep pretending she couldn't hear him. “Bella, why are you doing this? We would’ve helped you.”

He sounded so hurt that she felt a pang, followed by the usual confusion. _Why can’t they see that I can take care of myself? Every time I get hurt, they do this._ “I know, but I needed to move.” 

“More than you needed to rest?” The ground was getting even closer, maybe sixteen or seventeen feet away. Bella shook her head. He didn't understand, none of them did. Even Arathorn and the twins hadn’t, and they knew the full story.

“If I stayed up there much longer, I wouldn't have been able to move. I would have been useless.”

“So why didn't you tell us?” _Oh, Yavanna, he sounds heartbroken_.

“I tried. Several times, actually, and you all ignored me.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat and focused on the ground. She was almost there, just another five feet or so. The Prince didn't respond, only kept walking until his feet were only a few steps behind Bella’s hands. Her feet touched grass, and she held back a sob. The stone had been wearing away at her skin as she climbed down, and the feeling of cool grass at last was more soothing than any blankets or medicines the Dwarves had to offer. She straightened painfully, using the side of the Carrock to balance as she did, but hardly two seconds later, Kíli reached her and took hold of her arms, gingerly helping her stand. She backed away from the stairs with his help, unable to meet his eyes, instead staring at their feet. He leaned down to press his lips to her hair, although he didn't seem to know what to do what to do with his hands. After he lifted and dropped them a couple of times, she reached out, wincing slightly as the motion pulled at her back, and took his _warm_ hands in hers.

He sighed, his breath warm on her head. “Makazzarûna. Why do you never let us help you?”

“I don’t…” _Need help_. The lie refused to leave her mouth. She did need help. She just didn't usually have it. She swallowed and felt her breath hitch. “I don’t know how.”

He chuckled, but it sounded anguished. When he spoke, his voice was thick, and she felt tears in her hair. “The how is easy. Just tell us when you’re hurt, and tell us what you need. We want to help you, but you never give us the chance.”

She shook her head carefully, not wanting to dislodge him. “I never had help before, except with Arathorn, but that was once, years ago.”

“Well, you have help now.” He sounded resolute, and more authoritative than anyone in the Company except Thorin usually was. She didn't respond, and held back the tears gathering in her eyes. “Bella. Promise me, you will let us help you.” He drew back until he could meet her eyes, and seeing his naked worry broke down the last wall Bella had. Her breath hitched, and she nodded, then pushed forward to lean against his chest as she sobbed. Delicately, he lowered them both to the ground, apologizing every time pain spiked through her and she cried out, until he was sitting on the grass and she was nestled in his lap. Her back was to the Carrock, and she could hear every member of the Company’s arrival on the ground, because every single one gasped, or exclaimed, or at least inhaled sharply when they saw her scars. Thorin was the worst. He didn't quite cry out, but he sounded more horrified than she’d ever heard him.

Kíli sighed again. “Bella… you don’t have to tell me, but why did you do that, on the tree?”

She half-smiled, grimly. “You mean, why did I provoke Azog?” She felt him nod, and would've shrugged if her back wasn't so sore. “Most Orcs are barely intelligent enough to feed themselves, but Azog is one of a few exceptions. He’s too smart to face head on, unless you can rile him up, get him reacting instead of strategizing. Any of you doing what I did would just amuse him, but I spent ten years learning all the right buttons to push.” He inhaled sharply, presumably at the idea of antagonizing Azog, and again, Bella wished she could shrug. “He’s less dangerous when he’s angry.” 

One of them began setting the campfire, and Bella twitched away from the noise before she could help it. _Don’t notice, don’t noti_ — “Bella? What’s wrong?” She didn't answer. He sighed, frustrated. “Bella, you promised. Tell me.”

 _Yes, but this doesn’t hurt… not much. Although it bothers me. A lot. And I did promise_. “It’s nothing. Just…” She cleared her throat, wishing she’d thought to answer him verbally before and put in some loopholes. “I don’t like fire. I don’t like being close to it.”

Immediately, he called out, “Ori, move the fire back.”

“No, Kíli, we can just move, you don’t have t—” She tried to raise her head to glare at him, but moved her back as she did and had to bite back the rest of her words along with the pain.

“Yes, I do.” His quiet tone brokered no argument. “You’re hurting, and I’m not going to let you suffer when we can easily accommodate you.”

Thorin’s voice came from the other side of camp. “Ori, do as he said.” Kítos said something too quietly for Bella to hear, but a moment later she heard the Dwarrowdam moving the firewood away. Bella relaxed infinitesimally, knowing how silly it was to be nervous around a campfire, of all things, but the distance still helped. Footsteps approached, and she saw boots stop next to Kíli, directly across from her. The Dwarf sat, and she recognized the jacket before she even looked up.

Thorin was examining her face, but didn't lower his gaze until after he met her eyes and flicked his down before raising them again, a silent question. In response, she nodded, and lifted her head, settling it against Kíli’s shoulder, so that the burns on her chest were more visible. Watching him from this near, she could see minute emotions in his eyes that he hid normally; he looked sick, and angry, but also as concerned as Kíli. She didn't know what to make of it.

“These words. What do they say?” 

He met her eyes, and she swallowed. “It’s Black Speech. **Bring Azog**.” She watched him carefully as she spoke. She’d wondered since waking in the tree if he spoke the Orc language as well, and his reaction confirmed it. His face darkened, brows lowering into a murderous glare at the scars, and he didn't move or speak for a long moment.

“And that’s what caused the pain?”

“Yes.” He stood abruptly and stormed off. She thought about trying to watch him and figure out where he was going, but she was tired, _so, so tired,_ and closing her eyes and leaning against Kíli sounded so much better. She fell into a light doze, listening to the Dwarves set up, and only woke when Thorin called her, softly. 

“Miss Baggins.”

“You c’n call me Bella.” She smiled weakly at him, but his frown only deepened; he seemed sad, though. _Odd. He’s never sad_. “You’ve seen my scars, you kept me from falling to my death, and you know I know Black Speech; you’re qualified.” _There!_ A faint smile flickered on his face, but was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. He moved aside, though he didn't take his eyes off of her, and Gandalf kneeled where Thorin had been sitting.

He looked more sorrowful than she had thought possible. “May I see the curse, my dear?” _Curse? Well, that should have been obvious_. She nodded, not bothering to move. He leaned closer, and looked carefully at the words for some time. She watched him just as carefully, and found herself growing angrier and angrier.

“Why didn't you come?” Her voice was quiet, but the three men closest to her heard her clearly; Kíli jumped, Thorin’s eyes narrowed, and Gandalf… Gandalf just looked at her. _He knows. He knows exactly what I mean_. “Why?” Her voice shook, but the wizard’s only reaction was to rock back on his heels with a sorrowful expression. Her hands were shaking, too, and she clenched them, feeling the tension spread all through her until it hit her back. The pain only made her angrier. “What was so important that you. didn't. come?” 

He stood, shaking his head. “My dear,”

“No!” She pushed off of Kíli to stand, looking up at the Man. She swayed, grimacing at the pain, but Thorin stilled Kíli with a look before the boy could try to help her, and barked a command at the rest of the Company that stopped them in their tracks as they rushed over. She ignored all that, though, and held Gandalf’s gaze. 

“They needed you, and you didn't come.” He tried to speak again, and she cut him off. “No! No more excuses, no more ‘my dear’s’— They told me. My Mother and Father, your friends, told me, over and over, ‘don’t worry, the Grey One is coming, the Grey One will save us, just be patient’.” She panted in the silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that every Dwarf in the area was staring at her, but she didn't care. When she spoke again, her voice was a low growl that built to a roar. 

“For three years, they told me, ‘he’s coming, he’ll save us, don’t worry’, and then they begged me, ‘don’t escape, we can’t watch you burn, just wait for the Grey One’. For five years, from the day the Orcs took us, they told me you would come, you would save us; they told me that as they died!” She swallowed back her tears, swallowed the pain. 

“My Mother told me on her deathbed, ‘Gandalf will come, he’ll take you out of here’, and you neVER DID!” She took a step toward the wizard and bent nearly double from the pain, remaining on her feet only by letting loose an agonized groan. She straightened, breathing heavily. “You never did. For six years I waited, six years of serving Azog, of taking whips and claws, alone, until I ran! I clawed my way out of Hell, and would have been lost in the memory of it if Arathorn hadn't found me. And yoU NEVER CAME!” 

She screamed the last words with all the suffering she’d held in since the Fell Winter, and fell to her knees, curled over her legs so that her forehead brushed the grass as she sobbed. Some of the blisters on her back had ripped open; she could feel the fluid trailing down her sides and her neck, even if the pain all blended together. For all she knew, it could have been blood, pouring from all of her scars at once, and there were many. The wounds Azog had given her looked as fresh as they ever had, but there were more that he hadn’t given her, gashes from claws and swords and whips until her back was a mass of scars that only moved as easily as they did because Arathorn had called in the twins with their Elvish medicine. They couldn't erase the silvery marks, but they let her ignore them, made it possible for her to act as though the fires of Hell didn't still haunt her dreams, and she would never be able to thank them enough. But they couldn't stop the nightmares. She could see them now, see her parents screaming as Azog carved the words into her chest and cauterized the wounds, see the Orcs laughing as she was punished for escaping again, this time with six lashes, sealed the same way as the first scar Azog had given her. They were everywhere, in her dreams, in the shadows, in the flames, she saw them everywhere and she just wanted it to stop. She sobbed, kneeling on the ground, and could think of nothing except the pain. 

She felt something cold touch her back, and cried out as pain flared where it had pressed. A gentle hand touched her forehead, a deep voice shushed her softly, and whoever was beside her held her hand while the cold thing patted down her scars methodically and the pain slowly faded. She gripped the hand tightly, hard enough to hurt most of the time, but the Dwarf, since he was too warm to be Gandalf and didn't sound like Kítos, never faltered; he just let her squeeze his hand until she was sure it would bruise, stroked her forehead tenderly with the other hand, and hummed soothingly. By the time the pain was completely gone, she had long since stopped crying, and was half asleep when the world tipped and she blearily realized that they were moving her onto a blanket facing the fire, but a Dwarf laid down between her and it. She couldn't make out his face, only that it definitely wasn’t Kítos, and might have had dark hair. He murmured something as she drifted off, but she didn't understand him; only knew that she liked his voice, and so fell asleep with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah, I wrote this scene before I actually bought the movies, so I was under the impression at the time that it had only taken a couple hours for the Eagles to fly them to the Carrock. In actuality, it took all night, which would mean that this scene *should* be in broad daylight, buuutttt... I like my version better. For this fic, anyway. So, it's about two or three in the morning when she starts climbing down.  
> Here's hoping you like protective!Kíli, 'cause I do. The song she mentions, by the way, is 'Flyin' by Regina Spektor, and there's a tiny backstory-spoiler if you look it up. It doesn't really affect the story, but it will be addressed later, so if you don't like spoilers, don't listen to it.  
> 'Makazzarûna' means 'she who continues to impress'; the sound Thorin makes is... it's something like when he sees Fíli near the end of BotFA; and if you have any questions, just let me know!


	18. Gimonsasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Typical Durin drama, and Hobbits continue to surprise everyone.

She was smiling. _How can she smile after all she’s gone through?_ Thorin lay across from her, the heat of the fire on his back, and watched her as she slept. He’d nearly grabbed her as she raged at the wizard, nearly pulled her into his lap and held her _and kissed her_ as she cried, but experience had stayed him. After Moria, some of the survivors, and some of the families who would never see their sons and brothers and husbands again, had blamed him. They hadn't cared that it had been his Grandfather who led them into death, or that he’d lost most of his family just as they had, they had only seen that Thorin survived while their friends and brothers fell. They had railed against him, accused him, even attacked him, but the few times he had tried to respond or someone stopped them had ended disastrously. Bel— _No! Miss Baggins, or the Burglar. Although she said I could use her n— No, she was half-asleep, she couldn't have known what she was saying_. Miss Baggins had more to rail about than most he’d seen, but as he understood the situation, she didn't have any more reason to blame Tharkûn than the mourners had had to blame Thorin.

Gandalf hadn't known. That was clear, from his conversations with Thorin; he had stepped away from the Shire, as he did occasionally, expecting nothing of importance to happen. It was just bad luck that he did so at the wrong time.

The wizard had tried to approach B— Miss Baggins, after she fell, but Thorin had stopped him.

“She won’t hear your words, wizard, and is in no condition to accept apologies or excuses.” Reluctantly, Tharkûn had kept his distance while Thorin waved Oin to her, and told the healer to help her as best he could. _Better that her wounds be tended now, rather than let them fester in the night_. Oin had held onto a few medicines through the Goblin mess, and mixed a painkiller quickly with supplies from the surrounding woods. He’d warned Thorin that it would take several minutes to take effect, and Thorin had understood what he wasn’t saying. Thorin had sat beside her as she sobbed, though she didn't seem to notice, and had held back tears himself as the moonlight glinted off of her wounds. Horrific burns surrounded six angry red scars that streaked at odds across her back, laying atop smaller, silvered scars that Thorin recognized as being lash-marks for the most part. The cicatrices covered her skin so thickly that her natural coloring was barely visible. It was a miracle that she could move at all, let alone as easily as she did. 

When Oin began applying the anesthetic, she had cried out, spine tensing at the pain, and Thorin took her cold hand reflexively, wincing as his shoulder complained. But he had brushed his fingers across her clammy brow, hoping it would help like it did during her nightmares, and forced himself not to react while she crushed his hand in hers, and he had hummed. He wasn’t sure what song it was; at first it had been something he remembered his mother singing, then something he had sung to Dís when she was a babe, and then it meandered through all the music he knew as he fought not to fall silent. She stopped sobbing slowly, long before her grip relented. Oin stifled a gasp, and Thorin tore his eyes from her cheek to follow the healer’s gaze to her back, and his eyes widened. The blisters were fading as he watched, gradually, but unmistakably. 

“I think…” Oin’s voice was awed. “I think another ten minutes or so and we should be able to move her.”

“Mahal, Oin, what did you give her?” 

The healer shook his head helplessly. “Just Kingsfoil; it’s all I had.” The two Dwarves had fallen silent as Oin applied more Kingsfoil and the burns knitted together. Eventually her grip relaxed and Oin had enlisted Fíli and Kíli to help him move her onto a blanket, and then to a spot by the fire. 

Kíli had protested, insisting that she didn't like being so close to the flames. As Thorin thought back, he’d realized that she never had, that even when she was so distressed over what happened with Kíli, she’d gone out of her way to keep her distance. _Little wonder, with her burns._ He’d nodded and ordered them to set her down a few feet further away, and laid so that he blocked her view of the fire. She’d still been awake at that point, if barely, and had visibly relaxed when she couldn't see the flames anymore.

He’d sighed. “Oh, Lukhdelê, what have you endured?” He hadn’t expected her to hear him, and she showed no sign of understanding him, but she smiled, eyes falling closed, and drifted off entirely. Thorin watched her, thinking, for several minutes before Dori approached.

The older Dwarf stood there, twiddling his thumbs uncomfortably for nearly a minute before Thorin lost patience and quietly ordered him to speak. “Well, it— I…” He straightened. “I’m sorry, King, but I don’t think it’s proper for you to sleep so close to her.” Thorin’s blood chilled. _After what happened today, her nightmares will be even worse; she’ll need more help than ever_.

He sat up as well as he could and glared at Dori. “Do you think I would take advantage of her?”

Ori came and stood next to his brother, face red but unrepentant. “No, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. She didn’t know what she was doing when she laid next to you, and after you… you kissed her…” _Nononon_ —

A familiar cry caught his attention, and the brothers followed his motion as he turned to look at Bella. Her face was contorted in her sleep, as distraught as the first night she’d woken him, if not more so. Thorin tried to reach her, but wrenched his shoulder and had to catch his breath for a long moment. While he did, Dori and Ori rushed to her and took hold of her arms, trying to comfort her. Bella thrashed violently against their grip, sobbing in Black Speech, ‘ **let me go, tell Azog I’m coming, don’t touch them, let them sleep** ’, more agitated than he’d ever seen her. She struggled frantically, and forced the brothers to let go of her before she injured herself. The rest of the Company came running, but Thorin ignored them, pushing Dori out of the way to lay his hand on her frigid jaw. Immediately Bella quieted, though she still trembled, face drawn and pale. He stared at her for some time, he wasn’t sure how long, unmoving except for sweeping his thumb across her cheekbone, feeling the skin under his hand warm just slightly. When he looked up, it was to see the Company staring at him. Some, like Gloin and Bifur, had blank faces, while others looked nearly murderous, Kíli and Ori among them.

He kept his voice low, but made no effort to conceal the anger there. “She’ll have two more dreams like that tonight, at least; would you have me leave her to suffer?”

“How did you do that, laddie?” Balin sounded cold; it was a tone he normally reserved for unknowns at a negotiation. He had never used it against Thorin before.

Thorin shook his head, dropping his gaze to look at Bella again. The lines in her brow were easing, now, slowly. “I don’t know. But all I do is touch her hair, usually, and she calms.”

“Then why are you still touching her?” Ori was still glaring at him.

He met the young Dwarf’s gaze easily. “Because the last time I took my hand away before she settled completely, the nightmare came back in full force and it took twice as long for her to fall still as normal.” That had been the night after they left Rivendell, and had only served to confirm Thorin’s worries from the night before. In hindsight, the nightmares had likely been because of telling her of Azanulbizar, of Azog. He glanced down at Bella and saw that she was sleeping peacefully, for the moment, and withdrew his hand carefully, watching for any sign that her dream was turning sour. When her only reaction was to settle into the blankets, he sat up, holding a back a groan as his shoulder screamed at him.

He looked up at the Company evenly, and most nodded, stone-faced, and began to move away, only to stop as Ori stubbornly demanded, “What gives you the right to touch her?”

“She’s his One.” Thorin glared at Dwalin as shock rippled through the Company. The warrior glared back. Thorin could see Ori deflate out of the corner of his eye, but held Dwalin’s eyes until the older Dwarf nodded and walked away. Thorin settled down onto his back, faintly aware of Fíli and Kíli moving their bedrolls near where he and Bella lay, and fell asleep within minutes. 

The next morning he would vaguely remember waking and calming her a total of five times. As Oin tended his shoulder, Fíli and Kíli stood in front of him, expressions unreadable. Thorin waited patiently. _They love her as much as I; they would protect her from even their uncle and King. I would have it no other way_.

Finally, Fíli spoke. “We kept watch.” 

Kíli nodded. “We wanted to help with her nightmares, if we could.”

“But I slept through two, then another after my shift.

“And I wouldn’t have known about the other two if Fíli hadn’t seen them.”

“Except I didn’t see them.” Fíli looked stricken. “I wouldn't have even noticed if you hadn't gone to her.”

“I only heard her once, the one where she was talking.” Thorin flinched, though he tried to hide it. Her garbled words hadn't made any sense, something about ‘precious’, and ‘games’, but she’d been utterly terrified and it had taken some time to pacify her. Fíli tilted his head; Kíli frowned. After a moment, they looked at each other and nodded. With a last glance at Thorin, they walked away to confer with Ori somewhere out of Thorin’s view. Oin finished bandaging Thorin’s shoulder just as Bel… Miss Baggins stirred. She started to sit up, hesitated with a faint wince, then continued regardless of the pain that flickered across her face, ears angled back. When she opened her eyes, she seemed surprised, and a hint of relief entered her expression. _What did she expect to see?_  

As her shoulders and ears relaxed, her eyes skimmed the camp for a moment, then settled on Thorin. “Morning. When are we starting out?”

Oin sputtered for a moment, and Thorin spoke. “We aren’t. You’re in no condition to travel. We can spare a day.”

She looked mutinous, and Oin hustled over to her. “Aye, you stubborn lass, and if you haven't improved by tomorrow morning we can rig up a stretcher easy enough.” He moved behind her to examine her back. She still looked disgruntled, but moved her braid to hang in front of her shoulder so he had better access. Her blanket shifted and Thorin saw the edge of one of the burns on her chest. _That looks weeks old; how? Oin didn't treat it last night_.

She caught his gaze and looked down, examining the burns herself and pulling the blanket down a hair as she did. “I can walk just fine; my legs aren't injured.” She sounded almost as though she were sulking, but there was an undercurrent of confusion there.

Thorin tilted his head. “If they were, you’d try to walk anyway, wouldn't you. Why?”

She met his eyes and shrugged, barely wincing as she did, though Oin winced enough for the both of them. “I never had a choice. It was just something to live with.” Darkness filled her eyes and she looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this chapter is mostly filler. I'm not super happy with it anymore, especially the way it just kind of ends, but there's not enough that I would change to warrant a rewrite. I'm also taking a few liberties with things like Athelas and Elven healing, but that's not really anything new, is it? And yes, you read right, Bella and Thorin's first 'kiss' was two chapters ago, although she doesn't know that.   
> Next chapter: more Thorin PoV, Bella single-handedly turns the Company into a soap opera, and there is more yelling. Anyone who correctly guesses who'll be arguing gets a cookie.


	19. Tagersasekh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little world-building, little Durin drama, the usual.

Gandalf stood behind Bella, and Thorin regarded him for a full minute before nodding him forward. The wizard walked slowly, grief hanging from him as visibly as his robes, and knelt a few feet from her side. The tension that had faded when she opened her eyes was back now, and Thorin just wanted to hold her.

The wizard’s eyes watered as he looked at her, although she didn't see it; she was still turned the other way. He murmured, sounding ancient, “I didn’t know. I would have come if I had.”

A tear tracked down her cheek, quickly followed by another. She sniffed, and turned to pick at the blankets on her lap, though she still didn't look at the wizard. “I know.” She sniffed again and wiped roughly at her cheeks. “I know that, but I was angry for so long… and I still am, I guess. I thought I’d forgiven you, but seeing Azog…” She screwed her eyes shut and took a shuddering breath; a few more tears escaped. Thorin’s heart broke at the emotion in her voice. “Thinking I was going to lose another family, it brought back things I’d nearly forgotten.” Thorin blinked. _Family?_ Oin was just as taken aback, and Thorin heard three gasps behind him. “I want to forgive you, I do, but I’m not sure how.”

Kíli walked past Thorin, smiling sadly, and sat next to her. “I told you, just tell us what you need and we’ll help you, all of us.” She smiled softly, but didn't react otherwise, and Kíli shook a finger mock-sternly. “You promised, remember?”

“And you gave your word, besides, Miss Baggins.” She and Kíli looked up at Thorin, Kíli as though he thought he was in trouble. _Daft boy, you’re doing marvelously_. “You gave me your word that you would let Oin or I know if you were injured.”

She shifted uncomfortably, a light blush painting her cheeks. “You already know I’m injured.”

“Yes, but did you think that either of us would let you tell us you need help and just walk away?”

She stared at him for a second, ears twitching as though unsure what to do; Gandalf quietly stood and moved to the other side of camp. “I thought I told you to call me Bella.”

For a mad instant he wanted to grin, _and laugh and kiss her_. “I wasn’t sure if you would remember that; I didn't want to overstep my bounds.”

She snorted, and Thorin again felt his heart twist. _How can you laugh? How can you be so strong after everything?_ Oin stood and kicked Kíli lightly. “Out of the way, laddie. May I treat your other wounds?” She looked at him, sighed, and let the blankets fall so that the burns on her chest were visible. Along with the burns was a stunning amount of cleavage, and Thorin had to look away suddenly, and saw Kíli doing the same out of the corner of his eye, face red. Oin sat in front of her, _thank Mahal_ , though Thorin could still see her face.

Despite a faint blush, she still looked vaguely annoyed. “You really are making too much of a fuss; it’ll heal in a few days without any help.”

Kíli responded before Thorin could, still sitting with his back to her. “Yes, but will it hurt?” She pursed her lips and didn't answer.

“If you don’t mind me asking, lass,” Oin’s voice was muted, but Thorin could still hear him. “How are you healing so quickly?”

Her eyes tightened. “What’s the use of a slave who can’t work? Trust me, the burns will heal so completely in the next few days that you’ll forget they were ever there.” _That will_ _never_ _happen_.

Oin shook his head. “Yes, the burns are enchanted, I got that, but what about all your cuts and scrapes?” _What?_ “They look weeks old; some of them are gone entirely!” She looked as dumbfounded as Thorin was. But Oin was right; most of the cuts she’d had on her arms and feet weren’t there anymore, and the few that remained were hardly visible.

She shook her head. “But that’s normal! Well, it is for Hobbits, anyway; how slowly do Dwarves heal!?” She sounded incredulous, _with good reason, if this is true_.

“Cuts like those would take a couple of weeks; the burns would take months. Thorin’s shoulder should be mostly healed by Durin’s day, if he doesn’t do anything stupid, but he’ll have a nasty scar.” As Oin gestured to Thorin, Bella frowned and looked at him, confused.

“That’s ages longer than it would take a Hobbit,” She spoke quickly, not looking away from Thorin, “But what happened to Thorin’s shoulder?” Her eyes flicked between his and his shoulder.

Thorin let a faintly teasing note enter his voice. “Nothing too majestic. A warg was escaping and decided jumping over me was a better idea than running around. It caught me with its claws, but the cuts aren't deep.”

Looking cautiously amused, she huffed and flicked Oin lightly on the arm. “I hope you cleaned that wound; you don’t want to know what wargs use those claws for.”

“Aye, lass, I know what I’m about.”

“Well, that I knew as soon as you started using asëa.” The three Dwarves frowned. _Isn’t that what the Elf twins called her?_

“Using what?” 

She looked between Oin and Thorin uncertainly. “Is that not what you call it? I’ve also heard athelas, or Kingsfoil.”

“Why would using Kingsfoil mean I know what I’m doing?” _He sounds as confused as I am_. “It’s good in a pinch, but there’s a dozen other poultices I’d rather use if I had the materials.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Really? In my experience, there’s nothing better, espe—” She broke off, looking like she’d had a revelation of some sort. 

Bombur’s call of ‘food’s ready’ kept Thorin from asking what she’d been about to say, as did Gandalf coming over to him a few minutes later. The wizard told him of a person he knew who lived nearby, who might, if they’re clever, be persuaded to help them as they recovered. As they spoke and the rest of the Company ate, Thorin kept an eye on Bella, and knew that Tharkûn was doing the same.

Bella scraped the last of her porridge from the bowl and swallowed it, then handed the bowl back to Bofur. Gandalf stared at her, but switched his glare to Bofur after he started cleaning up. 

“Are you trying to starve your burglar?” His tone was harsher than Thorin had heard since they left the Shire, and Bella's head snapped up to glare at the wizard so fiercely that it seemed he ought to catch on fire. Bofur looked at Gandalf blankly, clearly with no more idea what he was talking about than the rest of the Dwarves. 

“I gave her a full portion, same as the rest of us.” The wizard looked horrified at this, and looked appraisingly over the Hobbit. Thorin followed his gaze and realized that she was thinner than when she joined them on their journey. But that would simply be because she was more active now than in her comfortable Hobbit-hole, wouldn't it?

“And was that the usual amount?”

“Well, yes—” 

“What does it matter, Gandalf?” Bella spoke over Bofur, more loudly than Thorin had ever heard her without yelling. “It's enough food for a grown Dwarf—”

“But not enough for a grow—”

“As they, and occasionally you, seem to think, I'm not fully grown, am I?”

“If you’re foolish enough to do this, then, no—”

“Foolish? Am I a fool of a Took, then, like—”

“Yes, a fool, just like your mother—”

“Don’t speak about my mother—”

“Very well, then I’ll speak about your starving yourself—”

“I am not starving myself—”

“Yes, you ARE!”

“THEY DON’T HAVE THE RATIONS!” The camp fell silent. While they had shouted at each other, voices climbing louder the longer they went on, until that last ear-splitting yell, the Company had tried to make any noise they could, to pretend that they couldn't hear the fight, but now they stopped and simply stared at her. She and the wizard had argued so vehemently that the Company had been watching them anyway, but now she seemed to realize that they were still in the camp. Her face flamed and she looked down, holding back a wince as the movement stretched her back, but again, her ears betrayed her. Her next words were low, barely audible, but in the silence they were as clear as a bell. “I’ll not eat them out of house and home before I even get it back for them.” 

Thorin was speechless. It took him _starving herself_ a moment _losing weight_ before he could _didn't notice_ find the words. “Bofur, give her another bowl.” The words were a growl, his call of “Wizard!” a bark. Thorin led the way into the trees until the campfire was barely visible through the leaves before he turned to face Gandalf. “How much should she be eating?”

The wizard regarded him a moment before responding. “At least twice what she has been. Hobbits take seven meals a day, and eat nearly as much as a Dwarf at each one.” When Thorin’s only response was an inarticulate growl, Gandalf raised an eyebrow. “I take it she lied about that?”

“She’s been talking to Balin about the differences between Hobbits and Dwarves, but she conveniently left that out.” Thorin clenched his fists and fought to suppress the urge to march back to camp and shake some sense into that girl— _no, she’s hurt, no shaking, just a lecture that’ll make her see how stupid that was, no, don't scare her, don't hurt her—_ Gandalf waited patiently, hands clasped in front of him. “You traveled with us for weeks. Why did you never see this before?”

“The first day, she took food out of her own pack. Whenever she began eating less, it was some time after I had assured myself that she was eating enough.” The wizard looked absurdly apologetic. “I didn't see the need to inform you, as I had thought she had enough sense to see to it herself.”

As he unclenched his jaw, Thorin took a deep breath and let some of the tension in his shoulders bleed out. “This friend you said you were taking us to, he’ll have supplies for us?”

The wizard nodded. “As much as you can carry, if I am right about him. And more than enough to eat while you are his guests.” Thorin gave a sharp ‘Good’, and started back toward the camp.

“Thorin.” He turned halfway to Gandalf, just enough to see him out of the corner of his eye. “I will not be able to stay with you long.” He looked more solemn than usual, _which takes some doing_ , and his tone was grim. “Baggins tend to be self-sacrificing to the extreme. Ensure that she does not destroy herself. Do better than I have.” 

 _I can’t control her, I won’t, but…_ “I’ll try.” When Thorin reached the camp, he found his One arguing with seemingly half the camp; they were all speaking over each other to the point that he couldn't understand a word any of them were saying. “ENOUGH.” The Dwarves stopped and turned to face him while Bella, now so pale that he was surprised she was still sitting up, tried to sneak a still-full bowl of porridge to the ground behind Bombur where he wouldn't notice. 

Thorin knew that he was glowering, but didn't care. He strode past the fire, his Company parting before him, until he stood in front of her. She looked more frail now than ever, but met his gaze evenly. After a few heartbeats— _how can no one hear that, how can she be so tiny and so fierce, how does she drive me so crazy?—_ he picked up the bowl and held it in front of her. “We have more than enough supplies for you to eat well while you heal.” He jerked the bowl slightly down, and she grabbed it reflexively. He turned to address the whole Company. “For the time being, the Burglar is on double rations. And if she refuses to eat,” he turned to look at her, “we will not break camp until she does.” Bella looked somewhat stunned, but made no argument, only settled the bowl into her lap. Bifur handed her a clean spoon, which she took, but she didn't begin eating until Nori sat beside her and began telling her stories about his favorite thefts. 

After going to Balin’s side and waving Ori over, Thorin told them what Gandalf had related, both of them as horrified as he had been to hear how much she should have been eating. As he spoke, he kept one eye on Bella and watched her scrape the bowl clean, practically licking it, and realized she always ate as though she were starving, _which she was, why didn't I see,_ and began to wave Fíli and Kíli over before he saw that they were already heading to her. While he watched, Fíli fussed over her blankets and offered questions of ‘should you be closer to the fire?’ and ‘are you too warm?’ and on her other side, Kíli poured most of his and Fíli’s meal into her bowl. Once she’d convinced Fíli that ‘no, I’m fine, stop piling blankets on me, I’ll melt and that’ll teach you’, she glanced at her bowl and immediately glared at Kíli, but her ears were angled peacefully up as she continued eating anyway. Thorin found himself smiling softly at his nephews, even as he talked with Balin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter seems a little weird, it might be because I actually wrote half of it right when I started this story, and then fleshed it out a month or so later, when I caught up to it, so the style changed a little in the meantime.   
> Also, the ratios I decided on for the Races were as such: if Man healing rates are standard, Hobbits heal twice as fast, Dwarves heal half as fast, and Elves heal a tad slower than Dwarves, but their medicine is awesome, so that accelerates things. If Man servings are standard for meals (three meals a day, one plate per meal), Dwarves need twice as much (three meals a day, two plates per meal), and Hobbits eat more than anyone (seven meals per day, one and a half plates per meal). Basically, Dwarves have super slow metabolisms compared to Men, but they're so much more active that they need about fourteen-hundred calories per meal, four thousand per day; Hobbits have super fast metabolisms whether or not they're active, so they need about a thousand calories per meal, but seven thousand a day. On the road, like they are, they can get by on four-and-a-half thousand a day, but given that the Dwarves are only eating two or three thousand since they're on the road, too, Gandalf was right, she ought to be eating about twice what she has been. Did any of that make sense?  
> Bella&Dwalin bonding next chapter! (He ended up being really fun to write, so here's hoping you like him!)


	20. Lihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin makes a surprisingly good listener, and Bella hears something very, very shocking.

They set out later that day, despite Kíli’s grumbling. The brunet Durins had glared at her together when she gave the blankets back to Nori and Kítos and started walking, but the royals and Oin had reluctantly agreed that she was clearly well enough to travel for a few hours, although Oin insisted on bandaging her wounds properly. However, at her first stumble, Dwalin and Bifur had unfolded a stretcher from Bifur’s pack, dumped her on it, and refused to let her down for the rest of the day. Dwalin had, however, answered her questions, which was how she knew that someone, _obviously Thorin_ , had told them to make it that morning. It was also the most she’d spoken to him the whole journey, and the novelty distracted her enough that she didn't simply jump off and ignore the pain, like she might have if Kíli and Fíli had been carrying her. _My back also really hurts, but that’s neither here nor there_. 

But even with the Dwarf distracting her, she felt tense, and tended to jump at sudden noises. At one point, Bifur, from his position behind her, had said something to Dwalin, which the barely-more-verbose Dwarf had translated. “He wants to know if you’re a Hobbit or a jack-rabbit.” Bifur had huffed and grumbled something, but Bella just stared at her hands. Dwalin turned to look at her, and apparently seen something in her expression that worried him. “What’s wrong, lassie? Should I fetch Oin?”

Bella shook her head immediately. If Oin came, then so would Kíli and Kítos, _and Thorin_. She shook her head again, clearing the last thought from her mind. _Where did that come from?_ “No, thank you, but it’s nothing to worry Oin about.” Deliberately, she laid on the stretcher and watched the trees go by, hoping Dwalin would drop the issue.

“It’s clearly something, lass. I’m a fair hand at keeping secrets, if that’s a concern.” She smiled. _How did I find so many people to worry about me? Why do they?_

“I don’t talk about all this. I don’t… I don’t know how.” It was the same half-confession she’d made to Kíli the night before, but it was no easier now.

“I’m nearly four times your age, lass. Believe me, the only way to learn anything worth doing is to do it.” His matter-of-fact tone had brought an unexpected laugh to Bella, but her mirth died away after a few seconds as she gathered her courage.

She nearly spoke several times, taking in a breath, holding it for a second as she tried to find the words, and letting it go when none came to mind. Dwalin seemed to understand, though, as he didn't push her. Eventually, she quietly began. “In… in the **Orc-camps** ,” Her use of Black Speech made him flinch a little, but he apologized for jostling her right away, and she carried on. “There was only ever one day that I didn't have to work, and I spent that chained to a wall.” Her voice broke. That day was among her worst memories, and she shied away from it now. “The burns were all given in the day at some point or another, and I had to go straight back to work once I could stand. If I, or any of the slaves, stopped moving, stopped working, we were beaten and left to die. It’s been nine years since I was there, but…”

“But habits like that are hard to break.”

She nodded, glad he couldn't see the tears flowing down her face and into her hair. “Every time I hear something, part of me thinks it’s Urbikh or Iestyn coming to punish me.”

“Iestyn?” She could hear guarded curiosity in Dwalin’s tone, and turned to look at him as she spoke. _These braids really are interesting. He was so angr— No! Don’t think about Iestyn, just look at the braids, at the tattoos, at Thorin, anything._

“Another slave. He was an Orc. Well, no, he was a Man, from Rohan, but in his mind, in the way he acted, he was an Orc.” She blinked, and for an instant she was looking up at Iestyn as he prepared his knives. She shivered, and scooted a little closer to Dwalin on the stretcher. He adjusted his grip, but didn't comment. “He was so cruel to the other slaves that Bolg noticed and claimed him. The Orc that held him wasn’t happy, but he didn't live long enough to complain. Bolg used Iestyn to spy on the other slaves, and pretended he didn't notice how a slave or two would go missing every few weeks.” Her throat closed, and for a moment she couldn't breathe.

Dwalin glanced at her sharply. “You liked Rivendell, didn't you, lassie? All the spindly buildings, and the… the windows, and…” Bella nearly laughed again. He was as far from subtle as you could get, but his tactics worked regardless. Her eyes still watered, but she could breath, and thoughts of the Elf city lightened her mood tremendously.

“And the gardens, too. The buildings were nice to look at, and the views were breathtaking, but both were a little too tall for my tastes. But the gardens, Dwalin, oh!” The last was a sound of utter appreciation, and Bella thought she saw Thorin glare at her for a second, but he turned back around so quickly that she decided he must have been looking at his nephews. _Was he blushing?_ “There was one that was filled with all sorts of herbs, and was right next to one of the rivers, too.” She snickered. “Elrohir tried to splash me, but I was too quick.”

“Dunked him, did you?” She grinned widely, sure that he shared the expression.

“Of course! I’d just gotten clean, I wasn’t going to let him ruin my lovely new clothes.”

Dwalin turned slightly to look her in the eye. _I would not have expected someone that big to look that mischievous. But what’s the joke?_ “You like Elven dresses, then?”

“Well, for the most part. That was the finest dress I’ve ever worn, although it was a little plain. Hobbits like to embroider our clothes, you see, even if you can’t see it, and that dress was so smooth that I almost felt as though I were prancing around in my underthings.” A choking noise came from the front of the line, and Bella looked over Dwalin’s head to see Balin steady Thorin. _What wa_ — She shook her head and picked up where she’d left off. “Actually, as far as that goes, I like Dwarf clothes much better. You all have patterns set into your clothes, although they’re more blocky than Hobbits prefer.”

“So what sort of patterns do Hobbits like?” She frowned at the back of his head. He was definitely laughing about something, but she didn't think it was her. 

“Not really patterns. Most of us have flowers and things. My father used to keep a record of his garden on his waistcoats; every time he made a new one, he’d sit outside for hours and sketch every plant in the yard, then put the exact likenesses on the new vest.” The thought of her father nearly made her cry again, but she moved on, voice shaking. “My mother didn't have the patience for that. She just put her favorites on all of her clothes, big and obvious and loud, and laughed at anyone who criticized her needlework.” She sniffled and wiped her cheeks. “I do a combination, of a sort. Every time I perfect a recipe, I put the key plants and herbs on my skirts.”

“Do all Hobbits sew, then?”

“No, not all. Mostly just women, but my father liked making things. My mother hated it, though; one of my father’s wedding gifts to her was a written promise that he would do all the sewing she wanted him to.”

He chuckled and shook his head; the stretcher swayed slightly. “I’ll never understand Hobbits. Every time I hear anything about you, some idea I had is proved wrong.”

She chuckled, too, at that. “Gandalf keeps saying something similar. But what sort of ideas do you mean?”

“Well, that you eat like someone your size would be expected to, for one.” He turned and leveled a hurt glance at her. “Why didn't you tell us, lass? According to Gandalf, you’ve been eating half what you should.”

She huffed. _Meddlesome wizard_. The thought didn't have as much ire it would have before her outburst; although she still struggled to forgive him, her anger was finally draining away now that she’d had the chance to say all the things she’d been wanting to. “I’ve been eating a bit more than that, or I was until we got to the mountains.”

“What do the mountains have to do with it?”

“Well, there aren't many plants on a mountainside, are there?”

Dwalin’s step faltered, and the stretcher tipped forward for a moment. He recovered, though. “You’ve been eating plants off the roadside?” He sounded more incredulous than Oin had when she’d said Kingsfoil was useful. _How does that make sense?_

“Don’t be silly. I’ve been eating plants off the campsites, or around the campsites anyway.”

He sputtered, and Bifur yelled something at him, looking concerned. When Bella turned back around, Thorin was looking at her again, expression unreadable. Dwalin caught his breath and spoke deliberately. “Lass, most of the plants around Bree and Rivendell were pure poison. You can’t have eaten those.”

She sighed, relieved, and settled on her stomach, elbows propping her up so there wasn’t too much pressure against the burns on her chest. “Oh, is that all you’re worried about? Well, I don’t know what Dwarves can and can’t eat, but Hobbits can eat almost any plant. My family has a lovely recipe, for instance, for foxglove-and-hemlock soup, although I like to add a few chickweed leaves in for flavor. There weren’t any especially tasty plants where we were camping, that’s true, but all perfectly edible.”

“Another idea, right out the window.” She couldn't see his face, but she could hear laughter in his voice.

She laid her head on her arms comfortably. “What other ideas do you have? I can disprove a few more,” She teased.

He chuckled, and pretended to think for a moment. “Well, do Hobbits prefer living in tunnels, like your house, or was Rivendell more to your liking?”

“No, Rivendell was beautiful, but I like being underground. It feels like I’m hiding, waiting to pull a prank on someone.” She smiled mischievously as she spoke, and winked at Thorin when he turned to look at her. _Where did that come from, why did I do that?!?_

Dwalin roared laughing, and wasn’t able to speak for some time. “Oh, lass, I didn't see what you did, but do it again, and soon! I haven’t seen the lad that flustered in decades!”

“I can’t.” Bella’s voice was muffled, as she had her face tucked into her elbow. “I’m too busy dying of mortification.” _Wait, he was flustered? I shouldn’t have hid so quickly._ “Besides, why do you call him ’lad’? I thought you were around the same age.”

“We are, but I’m two years older.”

Bella smiled as she understood. “And he’s king, so you use what ammunition you have.”

“Exactly.” He paused for a moment. “We weren’t but twenty five when Smaug attacked. The two of us had happened to be outside, and saw it all. After everything, when we were traveling, there was a time when it was hard to talk to anyone who hadn't seen, so…”

“You bonded.” Dwalin nodded. Bella laid her head on her arms, feeling oddly empathic. She turned her head sideways, so she didn't have to see his face. “I was twenty one, during the Fell Winter. It was so bad, wolves came into the Shire, huge white wolves, nearly the size of wargs, and just as fierce. When I came back, I found out there were only a few other Hobbits who’d seen them. They never understood why it was so easy for me to talk about it.” _Because I’d seen so much worse_. Dwalin seemed to catch the unspoken addendum, and changed the subject again, asking about her favorite foods. 

The subject lasted until Thorin called the Company to a halt a couple hours later, and Bella smiled at Dwalin as he left to talk to Thorin. Kíli had helped her off the stretcher, and then drawn her into a dispute with Fíli about which of them was a better fighter. After a few minutes, of course, she’d ended up refereeing as the brothers argued, and she and Kítos, from their seat on a log a few feet away, had used the boys’ distraction as an excuse to discreetly debate which boy was _objectively_ more attractive. Kítos had leaned toward Fíli, while Bella preferred Kíli, but both agreed, Bella giggling while Kítos tried to hide a blush, that Thorin was more attractive than either one. This, of course, led to Bella asking who in the Company was most attractive, by Dwarven standards.

Kítos blinked at her, and Dwalin, unfortunately, noticed their discussion. “What are you talking about?” Kítos shrunk in on herself a little, but Bella met Dwalin’s eyes easily, _he seems a little sad, doesn’t he? Wonder why_ , and responded nonchalantly. 

“Ori and I got to talking, and I was just wondering who any of you would say is the most attractive Dwarf here.” _Oh, now he’s worried. He definitely knows she’s a girl._

He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Bella’s eyes, _and looking at Kítos_ , and muttered, “I wouldn't be the best to judge.”

“Nonsense! Ori’s too shy and the boys would just say it’s one of them; I’d say you’re the best candidate at hand.” She grinned up at him, and after glaring at her for a moment, he gave a gusty, frustrated sigh.

He pivoted, making a disgruntled show out of looking over all the Dwarves in the campsite, and pointed decisively at Gloin. _Wait, what?_ “Out of the Dwarves here, he’d be the most popular.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta be honest, the complete disparity between Hobbit and Dwarf standards of beauty is one of my favorite tropes in this fandom, and Bella's reaction in full will be in the next chapter. But yeah, Dwalin ended up way more fun to write than I'd expected, and I hope no one minds that I'm bending the Bechdel test a little; Bella and Kitos did talk about other stuff earlier, so I don't think I'm breaking it entirely. But seriously, Bella and her parents were taken by Orcs when she was the equivalent of thirteen, and when she came back to Hobbiton at ~eighteen, she basically ended up a hermit for ten years. This is literally the first 'girl-time' she's gotten in all of her adult/adolescent life. So, know what? She had a little girl-time coming. And all of that came out so much more accusatory than I'd intended. Sorry! *hides*  
> Also, remember the names that came up in her backstory, there'll be a test.  
> On a mostly unrelated note, if anyone's interested in betaing, I have a fem!Merlin story that's 140k at the moment, and I'd appreciate another pair of eyes on that, and on this, if you want; I'm mostly happy with it, but there's always something I miss, so if you are interested, my email is on my profile and we'll see how it goes.


	21. Ze'lihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, but so are all of the characters, so what can ya do?

Bella laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth. _No, no good_. Her eyes kept tracking over to Gloin and she burst into a fresh gale of cackles every time. Dwalin and Kítos exchanged confused glances before he flushed and looked away; the boys came over to where Bella was sitting, followed quickly by most of the camp. “What’s so funny?” Fíli’s expression only grew more confused as Bella, remembering how Kítos had gushed over his hair, fell off the log laughing. Her back stung as it hit the ground, but it was leagues better than it had been that morning, and not nearly enough to stop her.

Dwalin sounded just as perplexed, and more than a little sheepish. “She asked who was the handsomest in the Company.”

“Well, that’s Gloin, isn't it?” Dori’s response only made Bella laugh harder, but she calmed down after she realized everyone was staring at her.

As Kíli helped her stand, oddly quiet, she hoped she wasn’t blushing as hard as it felt like she was. “Sorry, just—” She nearly started laughing again, and cleared her throat to force the laughter down. “Took me off guard is all.”

“But why is that funny?” Nori looked genuinely baffled, and Bombur nodded.

She flushed again. _Great, now I have to explain_. “Well, now I can see it, with the beard and such, but Hobbits don’t quite see it the same way.”

“Then who would you say is the most appealing here?” Dwalin had that mischievous look again, and Kítos stifled a snort. Bella shot a quick glare at her.

She cleared her throat again, wishing there was a way out. But none came. “Well… For… to Hobbits…” She squared her shoulders and held her head high. _If I have to do this, I’m going to make bloody sure I don’t have to do it again_. “By my standards, and most Hobbits, once they get used to the beards, the most handsome Dwarf here would be either Kíli,” he choked, and the rest of them looked gobsmacked, “Or Thorin, although Bombur would be a catch, given that he’s a cook. But going purely off of looks, Fíli, Thorin, and Kíli would be by far the most handsome here, although I’ve always been partial to brunets, so, sorry, Fíli, but in this you lose to your brother.” 

With that, she gathered her remaining dignity and marched, tomato-red, to her bedroll, turning her back on the Company as she did. She passed Thorin on her way, whose expression reminded her of when Fíli had braided her hair. She avoided his eyes— _Yavanna, did I actually say all that?!—_ and carefully sat on her bedroll; her back may not have protested earlier, but it was now, not loudly, but impossible to ignore nonetheless. After a minute or so of listening to whispered conversations behind her— _they do know I don’t speak Khuzdûl, right?—_ Oin came over and began taking the bandages off.

He grumbled as he did, and Bella listened with amused patience. “You’re never going to heal if you roll around in the dirt, and if you’ve reopened any…” 

After a few moments of quiet, Bella turned to look at him out of the corner of her eye, smirking slightly. “So, how does it look?” She couldn't really see his face, just the edge of his beard, but his awestruck tone told her all she needed to know about his expression.

“Mahal, Bella, these look like they've been healing for months.” She shrugged, and smiled when the action only ached.

 _I shouldn't have laid down for so long; I got stiff_. “I told you Hobbits heal quickly.” Gently, she pried off the bandage on her chest to see its progress for herself. She had to turn around for the firelight to illuminate it, but it proved to be healing well. The area around the scars was still red, but there was almost no pain unless she pressed it. A choked noise, much like the one from earlier, drew her attention up, but the only possible source she could see was Thorin, facing the fire. Without intending to, she stared at his shoulder, where the bandage poked through the collar of the shirt he was wearing. _Whose shirt is that? Maybe Dwalin or Kíli’s? They're as broad as he is, or nearly. Couldn't be Fíli, he’s got narrower shoulders. How does Thorin have shoulders like that, anyway? I thought it was all his jacket, but apparently not_.

“Enjoying the view, lassie?” Bella’s head jerked around to look at Oin, who, in turn, looked exceedingly amused.

She turned back around and tried to ignore how her face was flaming. “I was just trying to figure out if I could repair his jacket when we get wherever we’re going. Does he still have it?” She had spoken without thinking, scrambling for an excuse, but realized it was true, or at least possible. The cuts hadn’t been wide, and if Gandalf’s mysterious benefactor had a needle and thread, she could probably patch the holes, if nothing else.

“Aye, I thought I could use that and his shirts for bandages if we needed more.” He came around her side until he could see the burns on her chest, but only gave them a cursory glance. “I’d thought you wouldn't appreciate my using them for your wounds, but if you’d prefer those…?” He waggled his eyebrows at her as he trailed off. _Oh! What I wouldn't give for something to throw at him, and Kítos and Dwalin while I’m at it, stupid Dwarves and their stupid teasing._ She ignored him as he packed up his things and walked away, but she couldn't miss his tone as he exchanged a few words with Fíli in Khuzdûl.

“So,” Fíli sat in front of her with a devilish grin. “You’re partial to brunets, are you?” Bella narrowed her eyes at him with a moue, but said nothing. “And Oin said you were enjoying the view a minute ago; I really don’t see the appeal, but I have to admit, my Uncle does have a striking silhouette, sitting like that by the fi—”

“Shut up!” Her face felt as though it would spontaneously combust any second, but she glared at him regardless. “For your information, I was trying to figure out how to fix his jacket!”

His grin, if anything, got even wider. “You know for Dwarrow, that would be a sign you want to court him?” _How, by the Giver, could my face actually feel hotter now?!_

She pointed a finger at him, but couldn't find any words for a few seconds. “What would it take for you to shut Oin up before he tells the whole Company?”

He stroked his mustache contemplatively. “And keep it a secret myself, I assume?” She growled a little, and he nodded as though that was an answer. “Mm, sneak one of those Hobbit weed-soups into Kíli’s serving when you have a chance, and Dwalin’s.”

She shook her head. “Not Dwalin’s, but I’ll also make a pastry to give Kíli after the soup as an ‘apology’.” Fíli’s eyes lit up at that, and he nodded eagerly. Without a second’s pause, he jumped up and ran past her. Twisting to follow him was painful, but she did it regardless, and saw him practically tackle Oin, babbling about something he needed to talk to the healer about in private. _I didn't know he could act that well_. Fíli was doing an admirable job of behaving embarrassed, but desperate, although Kíli didn't look convinced. _Well, if anyone was going to see through him_ … The younger Dwarf followed the other two into the trees, and the brothers stayed in the forest for a few minutes after Oin returned. When they did emerge, Fíli caught Kíli’s arm and said something to him too quietly for Bella to hear. Whatever it was, it made Kíli flush cherry-red and practically run back into the woods while Fíli headed over to Bella. 

He smiled as he sat down. “We’ll have a couple minutes before he comes back. Now, quickly, did you know that’s what fixing his clothes meant, or were you just trying to be helpful?”

“NO!” The word came out as a squawk, and she hurried to lower her voice. “No, Hobbits use food or flowers or gifts, not mending! If I’d known, I wouldn't have said! I was just…” A pang of guilt struck her, and she dropped her head to pick at the hem of her trousers. “He saved my life, Fíli. I have to repay him somehow.”

“Bella…” When he trailed off, she looked up. He looked torn, and had his head tilted as he watched her. “Earlier, you said you didn't want to lose another family. Did you mean that? Calling us your family, that is?”

She met his gaze evenly, although the old ache made her eyes water. “Yes. You and Kíli are like the annoying big brothers I always wanted, and Ori reminds me of some of my Baggins cousins. And Dwalin seems to be turning into an odd uncle or something.” Her tone had gradually lightened as she spoke, and by the time she was at the end, she was softly laughing.

Fíli looked strangely intent, but also elated. “Wait here.” He jumped to his feet and pulled Balin over to Thorin to have an intense conversation with them in Khuzdûl. _What under the Giver are they talking about? And why do they keep looking at_ _me_ _?!_

“What’s he doing now?” Kíli actually managed to surprise her, as she was so absorbed in her surveillance that she hadn't heard him approach. She whirled to face him, only to huff when she realized it was him. He was holding a length of fabric, and held it out to her, flushing, when he met her eyes. She took it gingerly, and unfolded it to see that it was his tunic.

“What— why are you giving me this?” She looked up at him and realized, belatedly, that he just had his undershirt on beneath his jacket. Astonishingly, his blush actually deepened, and he made a few vague, flapping gestures to her and the clothing before Fíli called him over to the fireside. She watched him go, turning to follow him, when she saw Thorin staring at her. Immediately, she whipped back around, heart racing. _Stop that! He’s probably just concerned his Burglar will be useless. That must be it, Oin just hasn't told him how fast I heal. That’s why he’d be looking at me like that. Right?_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said last chapter, I really love this trope. Not really anything to point out for this chapter; it's mostly just setting up the next, but hopefully you all like it! Ta 'til Wednesday!
> 
> Also, potential betas still welcome; let me know if you're interested!


	22. Nu'lihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another of my favorite tropes.

Her fingers twitched, and brought her attention back to Kíli’s tunic. _And why would he give this to me? It’s not li— Oh, by the bloody Giver, Dwarves have a thing about skin and my entire back’s bare!_ She flushed again, and fumbled with the laces on the neck. 

“Here, I’ll get that.” Fíli took the shirt deftly out of her hands and sat on her right, quickly followed by Kíli on her left. He undid the shirt’s laces and held the shirt open so she could put her arms through.

She kept her head ducked as she wove the laces together in the front, still flushing furiously. “I didn— I forgot—” She gestured to her back vaguely, flapping her hands like Kíli had, which made the sleeves hanging well past her hands flap, too, ridiculously. Fíli just smiled at her as she rolled up the sleeves; she glared at him, though it held no heat. “You should have said something.”

“I did. To Kíli.” She finished lacing the tunic, which hung low on her shoulders and barely covered the scar above her heart, and Fíli moved so that he was sitting in front of her, his knees almost touching hers.

She huffed. “You know, things like that are why I said you were annoying.”

“You did. An annoying older brother, to quote you exactly.” He was holding her eyes, calm but intense, and Bella found she couldn't look away, and had a feeling it would be a bad idea, anyway. “Bella… In Dwarven culture, calling us your family, calling Kíli and I your brothers, that’s tantamount to adopting us, or asking us to adopt you,” Bella blushed, _I wasn’t trying to, I swear_ , but he continued before she could say anything, “And Kíli and I would be proud to call you sister.” All she could do was stare at him, and registered that her mouth was hanging open a few seconds later, closing it in a rush as she blinked away tears. “If you want, Kíli and I can officially adopt you. You wouldn't be related to our mother or father, or any of the rest of our family, just us. Actually, if Kíli didn't want to adopt you and I did, you wouldn't even be related to him. If you do want that, the two of us would give you beads and braid them into your hair, and from then on, we’d take care of you, even more than we do of each other.”

A surprised laugh burst out of her, and she covered her mouth lightly as she reined in her emotions. “I find that somewhat hard to imagine.”

He grinned again, the same impish smile on Kíli’s face as well. “Well, you are half our age; every little sister needs guardians.”

Her face fell, the smile abruptly slipping away. “I don’t need jailers, or keepers.”

They both frowned, sharing a troubled expression halfway between concern, pity, and dread. “Nan’ith,” Fíli stopped, and sighed, a little sadly, to Bella’s ears. “If you choose to be our nan’ith, our little sister, we won’t be your keepers. I don’t know how Hobbits handle that kind of thing, but for Dwarves…” He trailed off, looking frustrated. 

Kíli took over. “You would have all the same rights as a Dwarrowdam. We wouldn't keep you from anything or anyone you had your heart set on, unless your judgement was impaired, and we would keep teaching you how to protect yourself.” He looked deadly serious, and traces of pain entered his face and voice alike as he continued, “And we would die to protect you from anyone who tried to harm you.” His face seemed to blur as Bella looked at him, and she fought to hold back her tears for a long moment before hooking her arms around his and Fíli’s necks and pulling them into a warm hug that they both returned earnestly. 

Her tears streaked down her cheeks as they embraced her, and once she leaned back and they released her some minutes later, she still didn't trust her breath enough to speak. Instead, she pulled her bedraggled braid over her shoulder and tugged on it, looking at Fíli. He raised his eyebrows, looking cautiously hopeful, and she nodded. He yelled, a jubilant **whoop** that probably drew the attention of everything in a mile radius, but Bella couldn't find it in herself to protest or shush him as he cheered, and Kíli moved out of Fíli’s way as the blond sat hastily behind her to begin undoing her braid. As he did, Kíli looked at her cautiously, and she rolled her watery eyes and tugged carefully on a strand of his hair like she might have with one of her cousins. He smiled blindingly, and, lightly holding her forearms, leaned his forehead against hers. 

She grinned, misty-eyed. With Kíli in front of her and Fíli gently tweaking her hair behind her, she felt safer than she had since she was twenty. Arathorn, as much as she loved him, was always reserved, although she knew he loved her, too. Even Elladan and Elrohir, as much like the Durin boys as they were, were too big for her to really feel safe around; there’d been more than one occasion when one of them hadn't seen her and had accidentally bumped into her or trod on her foot; there was also always a distance between them and her that she wasn’t sure they even recognized was there. But these two had Arathorn’s ferocity, the twins’ playfulness, and something she couldn't put a name to, a way they moved, or talked, or smiled at her, something that she’d only seen with her parents and occasionally with Mirabella or Drogo. The fact that they were just the right size was nice, but it wasn’t even half the reason she loved them. It wasn’t romantic love, nowhere near that. Her attraction to them had faded over the last few months, although she still knew they were handsome. She saw them the same way she saw Drogo, and most men, in fact; male, physically attractive, and utterly unappealing. But still, she did love them, wholeheartedly.

Kíli’s eyes shot open and his head jerked back. “Fíli! Uncle ha—”

“Oh, calm down.” Fíli’s voice was unamused. Based on how he was delicately prodding at her scalp, she guessed he’d found a knot, and had no patience left for Kíli’s dramatics. “I got them from Uncle before you came over.”

She raised her eyebrows at Kíli, who colored a shade. “Since I don’t wear any braids yet, Uncle is holding onto my beads for me. Or was, I suppose.”

“And after I put my bead in, I’ll put in one of Kíli’s, too.”

Kíli pouted. _He’s twice as broad as any Hobbit in the Shire; how does he look so like a sad puppy?_ “I wanted to give them to her.” Fíli’s hands stopped moving, and he was silent for a minute. Kíli’s expression changed minutely every few instants, and Bella guessed they were having another of their silent arguments. Finally, Fíli exhaled exasperatedly and handed Kíli four beads. One by one, Kíli held them up for Bella to look at as Fíli finished undoing her braids and moved to her side to start a new braid at her right temple. “This one says I’m of the line of Durin; it’s the same as the ones Fíli and Thorin have, but it’s a little different than the ones Balin and Dori and Oin and their families have. This one says I’m part of the line of succession, it’s the same as Fili and Thorin’s. This one says our father, Sídri, was a Firebeard. This one is my favorite. It says I’m an archer, which is unusual for a Dwarf; I thought one of us would have to make a new design for it, but there’ve been a couple others, so there was a pattern already.” He held them out to her and she let him pour them into her hand, and spent a minute looking at them in the firelight. The patterns were hard to see, but were embossed into the metal, and she could feel the details. They were beautiful. They didn't look anything like Hobbit jewelry, or Elf, for that matter, but they were beautiful nonetheless. Fíli lifted his arm; she caught the motion in her peripheral vision and turned to see him pull the bead out of one of his mustache braids.

Bella winced. “You don—”

He cut her off. “I can redo the braid in a minute, Bella. Trust us to know what we’re doing.” He held her gaze until she nodded, then lifted the bead in his hand so she could see it. “This is my duplicate of Kíli’s Durin bead. With this,” he twisted the tip of her braid and slid the bead onto the end, “You are now a member of the line of Durin, a Princess of Erebor equal in rank to our mother.” She felt her hair and trailed her hand over the new braid. It started at her temple, but wasn’t very thick, and he hadn't worked it into the rest of her hair at all. As it was, the odd-looking braid hung down to the ground, and she picked it up and twirled it experimentally; the bead didn't budge at all, and neither did the plait. 

“What sort of braid is this?” _It’s like Thorin’s_.

“Four stranded. Those are specifically for family.”

She did her best to keep from blushing as she casually inquired, “Doesn’t Thorin have some like this?”

Fíli smirked, but didn’t tease her. _Yet_. “The exact same, actually. He’s worn our beads since he made us his heirs.”

Kíli cleared his throat, and she turned to face him; he tapped her other hand, where she was holding his beads. She opened her hand, expecting him to take them back, but instead he looked at them gravely, biting his lip. He picked one out and handed it to Fíli, whose eyes were wide and he was looking at his brother as though he’d seen a ghost. As Fíli stood and moved to Bella’s other side, Kíli took the other beads from her and walked past her, returning a minute later without them.

He sat in front of her, smiling softly. Bella frowned. “What bead did you pick out? I couldn't see before you took the rest back.”

“The one that fit you best.” His ambiguity earned him an unamused glare. Neither he nor Fíli answered her, despite her efforts, until after Fíli finished the left braid and fastened on the bead. “With this bead,” Kíli smiled, utterly content with himself, “You will now be recognized by any Dwarf as a master archer, equal in skill and rank to any swordsman. We’ll have to work on your archery, though; I want to make sure I can brag about my nan’ith without exaggerating a whit.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically. “No, Kíli, you said that’s—”

He put his hands on hers, and she quieted. “My favorite. I know.” He moved his hands to her face and gently flicked her braids out of the way. He sighed, still smiling faintly, but his eyes were tear-filled. “Bella, don’t apologize for being the reason we do things. You act as though you’re wronging us every time you need help, but you ignore the fact that we help you gladly. You dive into the flames to protect us, but you would rather throw yourself in than let us do the same. Every Dwarf here cares for you. Fíli and I love you as you are, scars and all, and we would do anything for you. I chose to give you that bead, and Fíli chose to give you his. We did that because it was the right thing to do, and because it’s important to us. The beads we chose are a reflection of how important you are to us, and how we want the world to see you. Men, and Elves, and Hobbits may not understand, but Dwarves do, and any Dwarf that sees you will know that you are Makharmûna Uzbadnâtha-u Erebor, She who has been Named Princess of Erebor, and that you are Fakakâl, She that is an Archer.” He leaned in to press his forehead against hers. “I only wish that the rest of my people held archers in the same esteem I do.” He smiled tightly. “I’m afraid my bead won’t get you nearly as much respect as you deserve, not like Fíli’s.”

She pushed his shoulder lightly, then when he began to draw back and took his hands away, _that wasn’t what I wanted you to do, you idiot,_ she grabbed his jacket and pulled him and Fíli into another hug. “I don’t care what other people think about me, whether they’re Hobbits or Dwarves or anything else. But this,” Her voice broke, and she bit her lip before she could start to cry. The boys both began rubbing her back, gently, trying to comfort her without causing her pain. Their efforts only made it harder for her to hold back tears. She took a shuddering breath. “This means everything to you, and to Fíli, and that makes it better than anything else you could give me.” As she finished, her voice gave out entirely, and she collapsed into sobs. 

The two of them, _my brothers_ , held her securely sandwiched between them, their heads resting on hers. They offered no platitudes, no promises, no pleas for her to stop crying, and so it wasn’t until Kítos approached and asked if she could do anything to help that Bella began to calm. Fíli asked if Kítos had a comb he could borrow, and the Dwarrowdam walked away. Still sniffling, Bella wiped at her cheeks and wished she’d held onto a handkerchief or two. 

Fíli kissed her forehead, then brushed at her cheeks himself. “Better?” Her breath hitched, and she nearly started crying again, but smiled and nodded. _Yavanna, Giver, I don’t know how I managed to find these two, but thank you, Eru, thank you_. Kítos came back and handed Fíli a comb, and Bella gave her a grateful smile, but was somewhat relieved when the scribe just returned the smile and walked away. “Do you think you’ll be alright sitting with Kíli while I braid your hair?” 

Bella nodded and scooted so that she was sitting in Kíli’s lap, nestled against his side as she had been the night before, and Fíli sat behind her, combing out her hair and occasionally swearing under his breath at the curls near the bottom. She giggled whenever he did, sympathizing tremendously. Her hair was thick and long enough that most of it hung relatively straight, weighed down by its sheer mass, but the last foot or so gradually sprung back into wild curls that were almost impossible to tame. Kíli laughed, too, although his laughter was tempered by the fact he actually understood what Fíli was saying.

Kíli looked at her suddenly, after the fourth time Fíli’s cussing had made the younger two laugh. With his head tilted, he asked quietly, “Would you like to learn Khuzdûl?”

“Kíli.” Fíli’s tone was reproaching, and the brothers had a quick exchange. “Bella, there’s a choice you need to make.” Bella turned to look at him over her shoulder, and saw that his face was just as sober as it had been when he adopted her. “Non-Dwarrow are forbidden to learn Khuzdûl. If you do learn it, you will be officially renouncing all claim to being a Hobbit. You’ll never be allowed to teach it to anyone else, and never be able to go back to the Shire. You’ll be a Dwarf in everything but body.”

She swallowed, but didn't have to consider it. _I made my decision when I walked out my door, and again when I accepted their beads_. “I understand. I want to learn.” Fíli looked even more solemn, but nodded, and smiled fondly at her.

He looked over her head at Kíli. “Start slow. It’s late, and we still have to get Uncle’s permission before we can really start.”

Kíli nodded, and Bella turned back to lay her head against his chest as Fíli combed her hair; it was making her sleepy. “Do you have any suggestions?” It took her a moment to realize Kíli was talking to her. “Anything you’ve heard us saying that you’re curious about?”

She thought for a moment about asking for the translations to Fíli’s cursing, _actually, I don’t think I want to know yet_ , then remembered. “There was something Oin said earlier… mehal? Or something like that?”

“Mahal.” She could hear a smile in Kíli’s voice. “That’s a good place to start, actually. It means Maker. That’s what we call Aulë.”

“Aulë?” Bella considered him for a moment. Hobbits didn't generally think much of the Smith, but he was impossible to ignore completely. “What do you call Yavanna? His wife?”

Fíli’s hands paused for a second, and when she looked up at Kíli, he looked confused. “Kaminzabdûna, Queen of the Earth.”

She laughed softly, and stifled a yawn. _It’s getting late_. “That’s what we call her. Well, sometimes. Mostly we call her Fruit-Giver, or just Giver.”

Fíli sounded as confused as Kíli looked. “Why would you call her that? Do you have names for any of the other Valar?”

She shook her head slowly, and let her eyes close. _Just for a second, then I’ll keep thinking of questions, in… just a minute_. “No, we just use the Elf-names f’r the others.”

“Then why do you have a name for Yavanna?”

The way Kíli’s voice rumbled through his chest made her smile as she answered, slurring slightly, “‘Cause she m'de us, silly. Why w'ld we h’ve n’mes f’r th’others? Th’t’s s’lly…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, really love the family-by-choice trope, especially in this fandom, in case you couldn't tell. Also, yeah, if you look really closely at Thorin (like Bella has, several times. XD), you can see one four-stranded braid on either side of his head, which are pretty much the only braids he wears, at least as far as I can see. Oh, and Fíli and Kíli don't need to wear his beads because they're already his nephews, so they're in the line of succession with or without his recognition. His wearing their beads just solidifies their place as his immediate heirs, since Dís would actually be next in line for the throne otherwise. (She has no interest, btw, hence why she's not even in the line of succession anymore and Kíli didn't list her with the rest of his family.)  
> Tiny reference/homage, the part where Fíli hands over Kíli's beads? Pretty much this (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaa_jzILsuo), from 2:24-2:34. Sorry you have to find it in the video, but there aren't any shorter clips of that scene or good gifsets I could link you to. :/  
> Lastly, did you see the little reveal at the end coming? I'm sure you did, but hopefully it wasn't too obvious.


	23. Gemlihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella starts to get a clue. Sort of. Li'l bit.

She dreamed of a sunlit room, where two boys, one dark and one light, played with a baby girl. The girl looked as though she might not be old enough to walk yet, while the boys were much closer in age, the dark one a little older than the other. Bella smiled, listening to them laughing, and looked around the room. It was all made of stone, but so filled with furniture, rugs, and toys that she had to look closely to notice the foundation. Stepping to one of the windows, she saw a hill, covered with trees that reminded her of something, another dream perhaps, but she couldn't remember. She shook her head, still smiling. It didn't matter right now. She settled onto a rocking chair in a patch of sunlight and watched the children play. At one point, she thought she saw something in the shadows; a huge, pale figure, then it stooped and it was thin and small, but just as terrifying as it started to creep toward the children, but it disappeared a moment later, and was soon forgotten in the warmth of the sun.

 _The warmth of the sun is getting a little uncomfortable, actually_. Bella tried to raise her arm to cover her eyes, but was stopped by something heavy weighing it down. She opened her eyes to see an dawn-pale sky, Fíli’s neck on her arm, and a snoring Kíli with his arm draped over her waist. For that matter, Fíli was right next to her, too, and her feet were hooked under his leg. _Apparently Dwarves run hotter than Hobbits_. She took her hand out from under Kíli’s head and pushed at his arm, but only got an annoyed groan in response, before he pulled her closer with the arm her head was resting on and shifted so their foreheads touched. She shoved at him again. “Oh, get off! You two are like furnaces.”

“If they were awake, they’d be flattered.” She raised her head to see Thorin sitting a few feet from hers, looking oddly amused, _and sad?_ “That’s high praise among Dwarrow.”

She squinted at him. “You’re cheerful.” Fíli chose that moment to sling his arm around her waist and try to drag her in _like a teddy bear_. She growled and squirmed out from under their arms, both of them immediately complaining blearily behind her. Sitting up, with one long plait brushing her spine, she stretched, eyes falling closed, and smiled as the scars only gave a half-hearted twinge.

Opening her eyes, she saw Kítos past Thorin’s back, and smiled at her. The Dwarrowdam smiled back and called, “Breakfast is ready!”

“Food?” Kíli sat up so quickly he nearly fell over, and Fíli followed after a moment. The two boys stood and took a few steps toward the fire before turning back. “Nan’ith, are you coming?” The conversations they’d had last night flooded back to Bella, and she grinned, feeling lighter than she had in years.

She tried to stand, and grimaced. _The scars might not hurt, but they’re still stiff_. “Trying to.” The boys exchanged a glance, then strode over to her and picked her up, supporting her between them as Elladan and Elrohir had in Rivendell. From her vantage point, she could see that she, the Durins, Kítos, and Bombur were the only ones awake yet. She laughed as they took a couple of dancing steps, spinning around as they did. “What does that mean, anyway? I’m guessing it’s something like sister.” 

Kíli grinned as they set her gently down and Kítos brought her a bowl of what looked to be porridge. “Baby sister, actually.” She tried to glare at Kíli’s teasing tone, but couldn’t stop smiling, which fairly ruined the expression. 

Fíli retrieved his and Kíli’s bowls as Kíli sat beside her. “Which makes us your undâd.”

“Big brother?” She took a bite and hummed happily; it was smoother than porridge, and there were Shepherds Clock leaves scattered through it.

“That would be undad; undâd’s the plural.” 

She smiled at Fíli. “So I take it you got permission?”

He bobbed his head from side to side. “Mostly. We’re allowed to teach you a few words, like undâd and nan’ith, but Thorin and Balin want to talk to you before you really begin your lessons.” She nodded. She remembered what Fíli had said, and knew she wasn’t going to change her mind, but the elder two would want to make sure of that themselves. “I didn't want to finish your hair while you were asleep, but if you’d like me to now…?”

“Yes, absolutely!” The plait he’d done before had been leagues better than anything she was capable of, and had even outshone the twins; they could do incredible things with each others’ hair, but hers was too thick and too curly for them to really accomplish anything beyond a plain braid. Fíli immediately shoved a heaping spoonful of his breakfast in his mouth and dumped the rest into her bowl. “Fíl— I might not know much about Dwarves, but I know you need more to eat than that.” He had moved behind her before she spoke, and chuckled unrepentantly as he undid her braid.

“Not as much as you do. Besides, Gandalf says we should get wherever we’re going by the end of the day, so I just need to last until then.” She almost wanted to protest, but he was carding his fingers through her hair, so she was having a hard enough time not melting; between that and eating her breakfast, speaking was out of the question. _Especially when he’s too stubborn to ever give in_. By the time she finished her food, he had woven the two braids at her temples through a twisty plait that zigzagged across her head and into a thick fishtail that hung to her shoulder blades. After running her hands over it, she swung her head back and forth and caught sight of Thorin and Balin conferring a few yards away.

She turned to look at Fíli over her shoulder, and gave him a grateful half-smile. “Once again, a masterful job, but I think I’d better have that discussion now.” He glanced over to his Uncle, nodded, and gripped her hand lightly for a heartbeat before moving over to Kíli. She stood, brushing herself off as she noted that Kíli’s tunic fell to her knees, and walked over to the two elders.

“Bella,” Thorin sounded surprised to see her, _and pleased? I_ _must_ _be reading that wrong_ , but sobered a moment later. “I’m guessing Fíli explained the situation?”

“Lad, don’t you think we should offer her a seat?”

She cut in before he could respond to Balin. “I’m fine standing, actually.” Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s not as if I’ll get less of a crick in my neck if you’re sitting.” He huffed, _was that a smile?_ but inclined his head, accepting her statement.

He cleared his throat before he began. “Fíli told us that he informed you of the consequences, but did you understand?” He held her eyes as he continued, and Bella thought for a moment that his were almost more grey than blue in shadow, like Lambs-Ears on a cloudy day. _Wait, why am I thinking about his eyes?_ “You will be considered a Dwarrowdam, and subject to all the same laws as any Dwarf. If you return to the Shire, you will be marked as a traitor to all Dwarrow. Living anywhere but Dwarrow cities or settlements would be an insult to your brothers, and to me.” The last few words were quieter than the others, but Bella didn't have time to respond before Balin interrupted.

“It’s not quite as dramatic as the lad makes it sound.” His tone was irritatingly placating, but Bella got the impression he was addressing Thorin as much as her. “You won’t be able to return to the Shire, and you will be considered a Dwarrowdam, but you aren’t a Dwarf, lassie. Legally, officially, you will be, but the differences between us won’t be ignored. No one will expect you to go without as much food as you need, or to work like a Dwarrowdam. Allowances will be made, but what he says about being a traitor is true.” He hesitated, looking sympathetically regretful. “You’d have to leave behind everything. Are you sure you’re ready to do that?” _Oh. That’s what’s going on. I thought I said this before the Carrock_.

She took a deep breath as she searched for the right words. “Hobbits have different hierarchies than Dwarves. Social rank is determined by where you live, what sort of family you have, and how proper you are. My father was one of the most respected Hobbits in the Shire; he never went on adventures, he was polite to everyone, and he was a Baggins, of course. My mother was one of the least respected, by contrast.” 

Thorin huffed, looking slightly amused, but didn't say anything, and she kept going. “She was a Took, she did and said whatever she wanted, and didn't care a whit what anyone thought of her. She was rich, her father was the Thain, but she had no patience for the dance of propriety, as she called it. I…” She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a steadying breath. “I was gone for eleven, nearly twelve years. No one knew what to expect of me, and for the past eight years I’ve been fighting just to keep my house, let alone my reputation.” She stopped, and smiled self-deprecatingly. “And then I handed Bag-End over to Primula, insulted Lobelia to her face, and traipsed off with thirteen Dwarves and the Grey One. In trousers, no less.” Thorin snorted at the same time she did, and she gave him a small smile as they both remembered that day. 

She kept her eyes on his as she finished, trying to make sure he understood. “I made my choice when I signed that contract. If I ever go back to the Shire, I’ll be a pariah. The only people who’ll be glad to see me for any reason other than a juicy bit of gossip will be Primula and Drogo, and they’re the only ones I’ll really want to see, anyway. I knew that when I walked out my door. I had planned to go to Rivendell after everything and see if the twins could convince Elrond to let me stay, but I wasn’t counting on your nephews. So, as long as I have a choice in the matter, I’ll be staying with them, and seeing as how they’re the Heirs of Erebor, I suppose I’ll be staying in your mountain.” She gave Thorin a teasing grin, which he unexpectedly returned, albeit much smaller.

“Seeing as how you’re a Princess of Erebor,” His tone matched hers precisely, “I don’t think there’s anywhere else I would rather see you.” His smile faded on the last words, his eyes darkening until she could barely see any grey around the edges, and his voice grew lower and more intense. She wasn’t sure what his expression was, but whatever it was, it made her heart beat a little faster, and heat rise in her cheeks, although she couldn’t say why.

Balin cleared his throat, _how, by the Queen, did I forget he was there_ , and ignored Bella’s jump to give Thorin a significant stare while she caught her breath. “Indeed. But the Princes will be responsible for educating you on Dwarrow customs and laws, and you’ll discuss courting matters with them.”

A snort escaped Bella before she could stop it. Thorin tilted his head, he and Balin both looking at her bemusedly, and she cleared her throat. “Sorry, not funny.” _Well, a little funny_.

“Why would it be funny, lass?”

She laughed as she spoke, “Well, I never had to worry about courting in the Shire; I doubt it’ll be any different with Dwarves.”

As she chuckled, Balin frowned. “Why wouldn't you?”

“Well, I’m hardly attractive!” _Did Thorin just snort? No, he must have been clearing his throat or something_. Regardless, they were both looking at her as though she’d said she was planning to defeat Smaug with a hug. “Well, I’m not!” She wasn’t sure why she felt so defensive, but she didn't fight the urge to explain. “I’m too skinny, too tall, too strong, my hair is ridiculously long, my feet are tiny—” _WHY DID I JUST SAY THAT_ “—and, um, I’m not nearly re—respectable enough.” She looked determinedly away from them, _especially Thorin, wait, why especially Thorin_ , trying to ignore how her ears felt as though she could fry eggs on them, and her face was even hotter. The two Dwarves didn't say anything for nearly a minute.

Balin cleared his throat. “Still, you’ll have to decide that with your brothers.” He sounded supremely uncomfortable, and made a quick, though polite, escape a second later. She turned fully away from Thorin to go back to the boys.

“Bella.” The way Thorin said her name sent chills down her spine, although she still didn't understand why. She stopped, but didn't turn to face him, and he didn't move in front of her. “Dwarven ideals of beauty are different from Hobbits’, and you may not be a Dwarrowdam, but no Dwarf would ever call you unattractive. Far from it.” His voice was so low that she wasn’t sure whether or not he’d actually said the last bit, and couldn’t bring herself to turn around and ask, but nodded anyway and moved to the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dances around singing* Bella's got a cruush, Bella's got a cruuushh.  
> Not that she realizes it yet. Why do I keep writing oblivious characters? They drive me nuts, but it's just so much fun!  
> Oh, and 'Lambs-Ears' is a more colloquial term for 'Stachys Bello Grigio’, right here: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/bb/c2/fe/bbc2fe0a86f510d183f02b74938be6ea--grigio-planting.jpg


	24. Ramekhlihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!

Thorin walked away from Bella with difficulty. The last day had tested his control more than he would have thought possible: from the noises Bella had made yesterday when she was talking with Dwalin, to turning around last night and seeing her bent over with her cleavage on display, and then, just now, her listing off everything he found so irresistible about her like it was nothing. Seeing her sitting with Kíli last night had made Thorin almost jealous of his sister-son, seeing her tangled up with them this morning, so casually affectionate with her, even more so, and reminded him of camping with Frerin and Dís to boot. The way she’d spoken, in one breath recalling the suffering she’d endured, in the next sharing jokes with him, even teasing him… He wanted to spend the rest of his days like that, with her, making her smile as she had with her brothers. But after he’d realized how much she’d given up for him and his quest, when he’d pictured her smiling in Erebor, pictured her in his colors, a golden crown nestled in her curls, marriage beads in her hair, he’d very nearly grabbed her _and kissed her, made her queen, and offered her the mountain itself if she would only stay with him_ , and honestly wasn’t sure what he might have done if Balin hadn't broken the mood. The thought of anyone not finding her as breathtakingly alluring as he did was laughable, even though the thought of anyone so much as looking at her made him sick.

He knew he should have left well enough alone and let Fíli or Kíli explain, but the way she’d avoided his eyes had torn at him. _There must be some Hobbit thing about feet, though, from the way she turned pyrope-red, all the way to the points of h— stop thinking about her ears!_ He’d been glad when she didn't turn around, knowing that he really might have done something rash if he’d been able to see her face, and had only hoped she hadn't heard his last statement. He hadn't meant to say it aloud. 

_Distance, need to get some space_. She didn’t feel as he did, or at least not to the same extent, he knew that. If he hurt her, even unintentionally, he’d never be able to forgive himself, never be able to look at her without knowing that she deserved so much better. He wouldn't lay a finger on her unless she said to, not now, not when his mind was clear, but sometimes when he looked at her, he couldn’t think of anything but kissing her, couldn’t remember why that would be a bad idea. It horrified him. On the nights when his Ralenns were of her being abused, he would often wake to chase away her nightmares, only to fall asleep and dream of even worse. He would remember something from that day, of her smile, or some little, tempting noise she’d made, and then he would be kissing her, running his hands over her ears, her hair, her waist, and when he drew away, she would be screaming, crying, fighting to get away, and just as frightened by him as she was of Azog. Those dreams terrified him even more than the ones where the Defiler was hurting her, because he could fight Azog, he could kill him, but how could he protect her if he became her Defiler?

He wouldn't let himself touch her skin again, after that night under the Carrock. Last night, he had slept close to her and her brothers, but had stayed far enough away that he had to stretch to brush his fingers against her hair. She’d only had one nightmare, so weak that he’d barely had to touch her before she quieted, _thank Mahal_. Intellectually, he knew that these were the same temptations he’d had for weeks, that he’d never touched her more than he should before and likely wouldn’t now, but seeing her so afraid combined with the dreams… he was petrified. 

He’d confided in Balin and Dwalin, but Balin had merely agreed to interrupt if he thought Thorin was overstepping his bounds, had brushed it aside. It was obvious that he saw Thorin’s plight as nothing more than paranoia, but Dwalin had understood. The two of them had talked, and Dwalin, while still refusing to tell Thorin who his One was, had explained that she didn't know yet, that the timing had made it impossible to tell her. Thorin had told him everything, his dreams, his temptations, his fears, and Dwalin had sworn to him that he would protect Bella from Thorin with his life, if it came to that, and that if Thorin ever hurt her, Dwalin would kill him, slowly and painfully. The last had been a surprise to Thorin, but Dwalin had simply smiled at him grimly and said that she deserved to be happy and he would destroy anyone who ruined that for her.

The thought that his best friend would gladly execute him on behalf of his One was oddly comforting to Thorin. That, along with the fact that his nephews adored her, was the only reason Thorin could stand to look at her. He knew that the best course of action would be to stay away entirely, to just let the boys and Dwalin and Ori take care of her, and he’d nearly done just that. But then she’d whimpered, caught in a nightmare, and he’d reached out to her. He hadn't thought, hadn't hesitated, had just reacted. He’d pulled away as soon as she didn't need him anymore, but just seeing her relax, seeing her smile in her sleep had been worth it. He was terrified he would hurt her, but if helping her made her happy, he would stay.

And then there was what she'd said about Yavanna. One of Dís' favorite stories as a child had been an obscure legend, so ancient that even Balin barely knew it. The tale had spoken of Mahal's wife, of Yavanna, and of a gift she'd given him for his children. None of the versions Thorin had read agreed on what the gift actually was; one said it was mithril, another lanterns, and quite a few said it was some sort of fruit, though none of them agreed what type. _But if Yavanna made Hobbits_... The version Dís had preferred was one in which Yavanna had taken Mahal to the gift, and he, then, had been the one to call it a gift for the Dwarrow. Dís had liked the idea that the two of them had presented it together, that it had been  their gift for his children. _It doesn't matter. Not now_. He would ask Bella when he had the chance, but there was no point speculating until he had more information.

Later, long after they moved out and just after they’d begun to notice huge flowers dotting the fields, Bella had been walking with her brothers behind Balin and Dwalin, who were in turn behind Thorin, but he’d still been able to hear her.

“Oh, while I’m thinking about it, Balin said something about needing to discuss courting with you two.” Kíli choked while Fíli spluttered; it sounded like at least one of them nearly fell over. “I don’t understand, what’s the problem?”

“Well, you see,” Fíli sounded supremely uncomfortable. “Since you’re a Hobbit, we’ll have to decide if you want your courting to be completely Hobbitish, or Dwarven, or something in between.”

There was a pause, then she scoffed, sounding amused. “And how would these hypothetical suitors even know what to do? Although I still don’t think I’ll even receive any.” Both boys talked over each other for a minute or so, protesting incredulously that ‘of course you’ll have suitors’, but eventually Kíli quieted his brother.

“Your suitors, which you’ll have plenty of, believe me, will know how to court you because one part of Dwarven courting that we’re definitely keeping is that they’ll have to go through us first. Anyone interested in you will talk to us, we’ll talk to you, and you’ll decide whether or not to let him court you.” He paused, then said so lowly Thorin had to strain to hear him, _I really ought to stop eavesdropping_ , “Although we’ll decide whether or not he’s worthy of you, you can bet on that.”

Thorin heard a smack, but couldn’t be sure which of Kíli’s siblings had hit him. Fíli spoke an instant later, “Don’t be an idiot; no one’s worthy of her!”

“Don’t you two think I should be the one to decide that?” Thorin smiled, involuntarily, at her tone: annoyed, impatient, and trying not to laugh.

Twin sighs came, then Fíli spoke again. “Agreed. You have final say in who can court you, unless we know something you don’t.”

“Like if he has a secret wife or something.” Another smack.

“No one’s got a secret wife, Malammalûn. But all of this does mean that we need to decide exactly how you want to be courted. And soon.” Thorin felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as his nephew glared at him. He didn't need to look; he’d seen it too many times to count, always paired with that tone, but never directed at himself before. _I’m almost impressed_. “And if there’s any details that your suitors will need to know, Binkidiz and I will need to know first.”

“Before that, what did you call Kíli? And why is he turning purple?” She sounded as though she were barely able to speak for laughing, and Thorin realized, after Dwalin none-too-gently elbowed him, that he was smiling like an idiot.

“Malammalûn means I’m dark, like the night, although when Fíli uses it he’s calling me a  pessimist. Binkidiz, on the other hand,” Kíli’s voice was seething, “Means goldless, since he’s Kidzulzanât, he with the golden hair.”

Fíli started to say something, but Bella cut him off, “Alright, we’ll discuss nicknames tonight, but don’t you think we should get back to the topic at hand?” She sounded almost desperate to avoid an argument, but the boys took the opening. _Or fell for it_.

“Right. How do Hobbits court?”

“Because with Dwarrow, it’s pretty simple; he gives you a courting gift, if you like it, you talk, then he gives you a marriage gift and if you like it, you get married.”

“What, that’s it?”

“Mostly, I mean marriage gifts can take years to finish, so some courtships are really long, but if everyone gets along it’s not too complicated.”

“Kíli’s right. With Dwarrow, it isn't just the two Dwarrow courting, both their families are involved.”

“Getting to know the suitor, trying to figure out whether the girl is blind or insane…”

“But we’re straying again. How do Hobbits court?”

There was a pause; Thorin could hear Bella humming as she thought. “First, a suitor would bring me food, or I would bring it to him, I suppose—”

“Wait, you bring us food all the time, does th—”

“No, no, no, that doesn’t count since I’m the one doing it!”

There was another pause before Kíli slowly queried, “What about when the rest of us bring you food?”

She didn't answer for a long moment, and the boys began to groan and gag, exaggeratedly. “Oh, shut up, you two! You don’t count, you’re my brothers! You might not have been the entire time, but you are now.” Again, she hesitated. “But, according to Hobbit courting, I… may or may not be courting the entire company besides you two and Thorin— wait, no, he did bring me food yesterday,” Thorin nearly fell flat on his face before Dwalin discreetly grabbed the back of his shirt. “But none of you knew that, so it doesn’t count!”

“Wait, does it count if you don’t say anything, you just do it?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't it?”

“Fíli told you, the whole family is involved in Dwarrow courting. Courting gifts have to be announced formally, not usually in public, but the suitor has to get the official permission of the family before the courtship actually begins.”

“… Leaving that aside for now, after the food is accepted, the courtship moves in stages, all chaperoned, and gifts of flowers between each stage are traditional; a single blossom after the food, then two or three after that, and so on until they’re ready to marry. Then the suitor has to make a wreath, with flowers and leaves representing his intended. If it’s accepted, the wedding party is arranged and they marry.”

“How can flowers represent a person?”

“Well, there’s different meanings to each one, of course, strength, intelligence, and so on, and traditionally the leaves’ meanings apply to the girl, me, in this situation, while the flowers represent what she, or I, inspire in the suitor.”

“… I don’t get it.”

“Well, my parents’ wreath, for example, had begonia, ranunculus, and passion flower leaves, for my mother’s intelligence, radiance, and, well, passion, respectively, and amaryllis and hydrangea blossoms, because she made my father dramatic and stubborn like no one else could. He was a very respectable Hobbit, normally, and didn't have much that he cared enough about to hold on to. But for my mother, he would race through the middle of Hobbiton to prove he loved her, and gave her food three times before she accepted him.”

“Three?!”

She laughed, and Thorin could hear a twinge of grief, but she kept talking. “My mother was more than a little stubborn herself, and my father made the unfortunate mistake of trying to court her without talking to her first. She refused to have anything to do with him until he agreed to be her friend first and suitor second. But they ended up having the shortest courtship on record; they began courting in the spring, just after planting, and were married just after harvest. I don’t think my father even would have waited that long if he hadn't had to wait until Bag-End was complete.”

“That’s right, you said he built it, didn't you?”

“Sort of. He designed it, and oversaw the construction, but Bagginses are far too respectable to work with their hands; he didn't have enough skill to help.”

“So what do you think? Do you want to keep everything Hobbitish?”

There was a long pause, during which they passed bees the size of Dori’s nose, and she didn't reply until Gandalf, who had been walking ahead of the group, stopped near a group of trees in front of a gate set into a massive hedge some thirty feet ahead. “I think… I want a wreath, but I think I want a courting gift. And maybe flowers.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin stopped by Gandalf and turned around to see his nephews looking at their sister cautiously, with the same hesitance that Fíli'd had when he was offering to adopt her.

She nodded, giving them a small smile. “Yes. If my hypothetical suitors are going to be Dwarves, I’d rather not start on the wrong foot. Besides, Dwarven courting sounds much simpler.” The rest of the Company stopped in a loose half-circle around Thorin and the Wizard while she was speaking, more interested in the topic than Thorin had expected. 

“So, food doesn’t count?” Kíli looked nervous, and she hugged him.

“Food doesn’t count.” Thorin ignored the pang of disappointment. After releasing Kíli, she turned and hugged Fíli. Thorin tried not to be jealous. She turned toward Thorin, _no, she’s looking at the Wizard, not me_ , and asked brightly, “So, are we there?”

Gandalf didn't quite smile at her, but his expression was soft as the boys fiddled with her braid and she smacked at their hands. “Nearly. Our host is easily angered, and not overly fond of Dwarves. I believe the best way to introduce you all would be in pairs, perhaps five minutes between each.” Bella’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and she slowly lifted her head to glare suspiciously at the Wizard. “And approach only if I whistle or call for you. Bombur had better come alone, and last. Bella and I will go first.”

_I don’t know about that_. She was still giving Gandalf a look so black it seemed likely that the wizard would burst into flames, ears proving that if anything, she was hiding the intensity of the emotion. Thorin raised his voice slightly. “If you aren’t comfortable with the plan, I’m sure Gandalf could manage with one of us, unless you have a better idea?” Thorin almost hoped she would accept. _A mysterious host, easily angered, and only one wizard to protect you? I don’t like this._

She stated clearly, if lowly, without changing her expression in the least, and with no small degree of sarcasm, “On the contrary, I have complete faith this plan will work on our unwitting host. Just the thing for tricking people into helping, isn't it, Gandalf?” She moved toward the gate, and the wizard followed, looking abashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus update 'cause it's my niece's birthday today, not that she cares: ~~five~~ six year olds don't tend to read fanfiction on the internet. Nothing in particular to point out for this one, other than I wish Bilbo pointed out Gandalf's admission of manipulating him into helping in canon, which is why Bella does here, although let me know if the courting stuff is confusing and I'll try and clear it up. Hope you enjoyed Thorin's reactions, though. I did. *evil grin*


	25. Gamekhlihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, your regularly scheduled update.

Once Bella and Gandalf were inside the huge dwelling, Thorin turned to Balin. “Do you have any idea what she was talking about?”

The older Dwarf avoided Thorin’s eyes and cleared his throat. “Um, well, laddie, the wizard might have… er…”

Dwalin rolled his eyes at his brother. “He told us to come to her house one at a time.”

Nori chimed in, “Until he ran into us while we were waiting and said to just go up and that he’d handle it.”

Bofur looked at the boys thoughtfully. “I would have thought they would have told you already.”

Kíli turned slightly green, and Fíli jabbered, “Gandalf said five minutes, didn't he? We should get moving, we really sh—”

Thorin caught his nephews by their jackets as they tried to pass him, remembering a day some fifty years ago when he’d done much the same after they’d stolen half the dessert from the kitchen. “It’s been two minutes. You have time to explain.”

They turned to face him, Kíli with his head hanging, Fíli pale, but looking him in the eye. “Kíli and I assumed Dwalin or Balin had explained, we really did.” Thorin kept glowering at Fíli, and was satisfied to see that his heir was still at least somewhat afraid of him. “But it turned out that she had no idea what was going on and we sort ofbargedinwithoutaninvitation?” His voice had gotten quieter and faster as he went on, until his last words were a barely-understandable blur. Thorin felt his expression darken, but a piercing whistle came from the house before he could berate the boys.

Balin tapped Fíli’s arm. “Go on, laddie, the wizard’s waiting.” The two Princes edged past Thorin and fairly ran to the dwelling.

Balin started to speak, but Thorin cut him off with a growl. “Did you explain anything to her? Or you?” He looked between the sons of Fundin; Balin looked sheepish, but Dwalin was unrepentant. Thorin sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I think this is a discussion for the entire Company.” Thorin nodded at Dwalin. “With me.” He turned around and began walking, knowing full well his friend would be right behind him. _If there’s a threat to Bella, I want those who care about her most by my side_. 

As they neared the house, Thorin tamped down his unease; the residence was obscenely large, even by Dwarven standards, and Thorin thought he wouldn't have been able to even open the door if it hadn't been left slightly ajar. Even so, he waited for Gandalf’s whistle before heading inside. The first room was a great, wide hall, large enough to put any of the rooms in Ered Luin to shame, but no one was present. Voices came from the far end, and the two of them went through a comparatively small door there to find themselves on a veranda overlooking a garden. The wizard, Bella, and Thorin’s nephews were sitting on benches, the latter three swinging their legs back and forth, as there was easily a foot or two of air beneath their toes. 

A Man, of a sort, was regarding Thorin and Dwalin suspiciously. “You came pretty quick— where were you hiding? Come on, my jack-in-the-boxes!” He gestured for them to come forward, but they bowed first.

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.”

“Dwalin, at—”

“Thank you!” The Man interrupted brusquely. “When I want your help I will ask for it. Sit down, and let’s get on with this tale, or it will be supper-time before it is ended.” Thorin frowned at their host’s manners, but kept silent. He started toward the bench Bella and his nephews were on, automatically, but Dwalin nudged him subtly to the bench opposite. _He’s probably more clear-headed than I at the moment_. Thorin complied, and the two of them ascended with all the dignity they could, and he sat opposite Bella. He was glad he’d brought Dwalin. If he’d sat beside her, the temptation to touch her, even just her hand or her hair, would have been misery. Even in the ill-fitting tunic, which, he noticed was unlaced and open for an inch or two at the collar and quickly averted his eyes from, even in that, she was more radiant than any treasure, especially as she crossed her _sparkling_ eyes at him in response to something or other the wizard said.

The Man’s booming voice caught Thorin’s attention. “Troop of ponies? What were you— a traveling circus? Or were you carrying lots of goods? Or do you always call six a troop?”

“Oh, no! As a matter of fact there were more than six ponies, for there were more than six of us— and well, here are two more!” Thorin followed Gandalf’s gesture to the door, where Balin and Dori had just come in. They bowed and nodded and generally made themselves ridiculous until the Man chuckled.

“‘Troop’ was right; a fine comic one. Come in my merry men, and what are _your_ names? I don’t want your service just now, only your names, and then sit down and stop wagging!” They gasped out ‘Balin and Dori’, and the Man turned back to the wizard. “Now go on again!” Thorin had to admit, Gandalf was clever. The Man seemed the type to turn away any large group, no matter how hungry they were, if he wasn’t of a mind to help. Parsing their arrival into the midst of the story, and providing incentive to welcome them quickly to return to the tale, was already proving effective.

As the newcomers clambered onto the bench, Thorin examined the Man. He was massive, ten or eleven feet at least, with black hair and a respectable beard, and muscles to match Thorin and Dwalin’s, or any smith’s, for that matter. He wore a simple tunic that ended at his knees, much as Bella’s did, though she somehow managed to look enchanting in hers while this Man only looked rough-hewn. _That’s the word; he’s as rough-hewn as raw stone, but what would she be? Gold, perhaps, with that hair— no, nothing so common. Mayb— What am I thinking?!_ Sitting between Fíli and Kíli as she was, and all of them within arms’ reach of the Man, she looked small, even fragile. _No, not fragile. Tiny, slender, dainty, more elegant than any of us could even hope to be, and more graceful than any Dwarrowdam I’ve ever met, but_ _not_ _fragile. She’s proved that_.

Thorin did his best to refocus on the conversation, but found it exceptionally difficult when Bella persisted in looking past him at the garden, flickers of pleasure, pensiveness, or curiosity crossing her face as she found or searched for certain plants. The expressions captivated him, and in those minutes, he wished for nothing more than to walk with her in the garden, and ask her for all the meanings, and stories, and memories that the plants carried. He would gladly listen to her explanations, to anything that delighted her so. An ache that had first made itself known when he realized he wasn’t her One eased slightly, and he knew that if he could only be her confidant, or even just her friend, he would be content. Her eyes flicked to the wizard, and Thorin registered that Nori and Ori had just been introduced. The Man ordered them to sit, and Bella’s eyes twinkled as she smiled impishly at Thorin, and the ache eased a little more at the reminder that she at least liked him enough to grace him with the occasional private joke. He gave her a small smile in return, and made an effort to listen to Gandalf’s tale when he saw that she was. 

Within a few words, Thorin recognized the account of their escape from the Misty Mountains, and held back a flinch as he remembered the horrible, gnawing anguish of not knowing where Bella was. As the wizard went on, Thorin grew a little irked when he made it sound as though they’d been merely upset to find one of their Company missing. He had felt leagues more than that, but he knew that the entire Company had been desperate to recover her, Fíli and Kíli especially. Bella looked interested, though, and Thorin wondered how much she’d actually seen and heard before coming out of her hiding spot.

The Man interrupted again. “Fourteen! That’s the first I’ve heard one from ten leave fourteen. You mean nine, or else you haven't told me yet all the names of your party.”

“Well, of course you haven't seen Oin and Gloin yet. And, bless me! here they are. I hope you will forgive them for bothering you.” Thorin saw Bella kick his nephews’ feet lightly as they fought not to laugh; she was holding back laughter herself, he could see, and so he glared at the boys, hoping to help a little. They sobered marginally at that, and she smiled at him gratefully. Dwalin elbowed him sharply, but the warmth in his chest made it easy to ignore the admonition.

“Oh, let ‘em all come! Hurry up! Come along, you two, and sit down! But look here, Gandalf, even now we have only got yourself and ten Dwarves and the Hobbit that was lost. That only makes eleven, plus one mislaid,” _Mislaid! As if she were a bit of jewelry to misplace, or a child to be minded!_ “And not fourteen, unless wizards count differently to other people. But now please get on with the tale.” As he glared at the Man, Thorin caught, in his peripheral vision, a flash of uncertainty on Gandalf’s face, and the wizard glanced toward Bella, who gave him a small nod, before nodding himself and resuming the story.

Thorin was gratified somewhat to see horror and outrage on the Man’s face as he learned of Bella’s pain, but her drawn expression took most of his attention. If Dwalin hadn't had a hand on his arm, _and if these benches weren’t so blasted tall_ , he would have flown to her side and begged her to let him help in any way she wished. As it was, he had to be content with watching his nephews scoot closer to her, Kíli laying his head on hers, Fíli taking her hand and holding it between his. 

The Man noticed, his brow quirking into a slight confused frown, but was distracted by another of Gandalf’s tricks. “Good heavens! Twelve isn't fifteen, and don’t pretend it is.”

“Of course not. There were Bifur and Bofur as well. I haven't ventured to introduce them before, but here they are.”

“And me!” Bombur’s gasp drew Thorin’s focus away from his One, and he turned to see the three stragglers approach, no worse for wear from the wait, and when he looked back at Bella, he saw that the interruption had allowed her to recover her former mood, or close to it.

“Well, now there _are_ fifteen of you. Now perhaps we can finish this story without any more interruptions.” His obvious impatience nearly made Thorin smile, and the way Bella hid her own smile made it even harder for Thorin to keep his buried, but the Man was facing toward Thorin, away from Bella, and if he insulted their host they all might still wind up out in the cold. The wizard simply inclined his head with an ‘of course, Beorn’, and continued. 

Once he had finished, Beorn turned to Bella with a frown. “Is this true, little bunny?”

Meeting his eyes somberly, she pulled the tunic to the side to display the top word scarred there, though she drew it no further down. The Man bent to examine it more closely in the dusk, and Balin had to signal the boys to set down their weapons when Thorin made no move to do so himself. 

After an interminable few seconds, Beorn stood. “I had thought, and then I had hoped, that you had been making it all up. If you had, I would have given you a supper for your ingenuity. As I see you were telling the truth, I will give you a feast, and lodging for as long as you need.” He held his hand, facing up, in front of Bella. “If you would permit me?” She smiled sweetly, gratefully, and hopped forward to sit in his palm _what is she doing is she holding his arm is he trying to take her_ and Dwalin had to hold Thorin still to prevent him doing something rash when the Man’s fingers curled around her thighs. But in only a couple seconds, though it seemed longer, Beorn had lowered her gently to the ground and let go of her once she was standing on her own. Fíli and Kíli jumped down, as did Thorin and Dwalin, and the boys stayed close by her side as they walked back into the hall. Thorin was just behind them, and so saw the apologetic smile she gave the Man over her shoulder. Looking back himself, he saw the same thoughtful frown on Beorn’s face as he had worn when the boys comforted her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah, I'm not a fan of the movie's portrayal of Beorn. Honestly, Jackson, that's my favorite part of the book, the FUNNIEST part of the book, and you decided 'nah, lets just do angst, drama, and more angst instead'. UUGHHH! (And yes, my story has even more angst and drama in it, but still.)  
> Also, I'm using this site: (http://axebow.lcwsites.net/archive/0/comparativeages.html) to work out the Dwarrow ages, so fifty years ago would've been when Fíli and Kíli were 23 and 18, respectively, which works out to 11.5 and 9. Bella PoV next chapter!
> 
> (P.S., still looking for betas, if you're interested!)
> 
> *edit* Okay, I just looked at one of my all-time favorite fem!Bilbo stories of all-freaking-time, and I HAVE MORE KUDOS?!!??!?!?! WHAT?!?!?!? So, first of all, HOLY CRAP, THANK YOU ALL FOR READING MY STUFF, THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE, but also, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, GO READ THAT ONE (Bilba and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by ISeeFire) RIGHT NOW, IT'S AMAZING AND WAY BETTER THAN KINTSUKUROI. GO. READ IT. NOW. GOOO!!!!!!!  
> (sorry for ranting)


	26. Geslihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beorn's, Day 1., part 2.

Bella re-laced her tunic as her brothers escorted her to a seat. They had, all three of them, stopped on the threshold when they saw the army of animals ferrying plates and cutlery and low log-stools throughout the hall, but the boys had begun moving again when a huge chair, which could only be Beorn’s, was placed at one end of the table. The two of them had immediately pulled her toward the opposite end, and placed her at the corner. There were two low benches at that end, clearly for Thorin and Gandalf, and Bella felt torn. _I don’t want to sit next to Gandalf, either he or I will end up ignoring the other, or wishing we were sitting somewhere else, especially now he knows he can't do anything about the curse, but do I want to sit next to Thorin? I can talk to him, at least, and I won’t feel as small then, but what if he looks at me like before?_ She wasn’t sure whether she was dreading or anticipating another of those intense gazes, and was no more sure how she would respond. But the decision was taken out of her hands when Gandalf sat at the far bench, with Balin next to him and across from Bella, though Thorin and Dwalin, a few feet away, were having a low argument in Khuzdûl that even she could barely hear; it would be pointless to ask Fíli what they were saying.

And anyway, Fíli was muttering under his breath about ‘little bunny’ and dropping into Khuzdûl himself every other word. She rolled her eyes. _Ridiculous boys. I’ve had uncles that were more inappropriate than Beorn, and they had worse nicknames than that for me, too_. She shook her head. Beorn had been a perfect gentleman the entire time, even if he were a little more physical with his affections than Dwarves were on average. Since adopting her, Fíli and Kíli had been ten times as affectionate with her, insisting they were trying to warm her up, and her relatives in the Shire would have seen nothing wrong with the Man helping her down, _once they recovered from the shock of meeting someone nearly four times their size_. She was only glad that Fíli and Kíli had arrived after Beorn helped her up to the bench in the first place; they might have ruined any chance of a good meal before it was even offered.

Beorn had taken her for a boy, at first, and then assumed that she was a young girl, which was fair enough, Bella supposed. In the oversized tunic, with her hair braided back, there was nearly nothing feminine about her, or adult. He’d apologized, though, once she’d introduced herself. _At least my voice is mature enough_. The nickname was a little annoying, she would admit, but the view she’d had of the garden was more than enough to make up for it. It was also the reason she had it. She’d made the mistake of exclaiming that his flowers were making her hungry, and he’d offered to let her graze, ‘like a little bunny’, but had taken her mortified silence as answer enough and allowed the wizard to begin his story. Some of those flowers did look delicious, though, even if she’d never seen half of them before. _I’ll have to see if I can borrow his kitchen tomorrow; I need to make that soup and pastry for Kíli, anyhow_. She’d have to go through the garden with Oin first, though, and make sure she wasn’t putting in anything that would make him sick.

She was broken out of her thoughts as Thorin pulled the bench out and sat, his feet brushing Bella’s before she flushed and tucked them to the side of her stool. She was beet-red, she could feel it, but Thorin didn't comment on it, only raised a glass to Beorn. _At least he’s wearing boots; if it’d been his bare feet I really don’t know what I would have done_.

_Although, is he blushing?_ The dimly lit room worked against her. The Dwarves could see perfectly well, she knew, and wouldn't be at a disadvantage until it was nearly pitch-black. Meanwhile, she was having a hard time seeing where Fíli’s beard began, although Thorin’s contrasted against his skin well enough that she had no trouble making it out. She flushed again, but the surprise, though half-expected, of sheep and dogs bringing the food to the table took her mind completely off of Thorin _and his weirdly attractive beard_ for several minutes as she ate. She made an effort to eat slowly, despite how hungry she was, but still had to have her plate refilled several times before Thorin or Fíli did.

“Hungry little bunny, aren’t you?” She made a face at Beorn, and he laughed, “I’ll take it as a compliment on my food, how about that?” She drew back so that Fíli hid her, blushing, but didn't protest when a fresh plate was brought to her. As she reached for her drink, Thorin caught her eye and gave her a small, conspiratorial smile, and she returned it. _However he confuses me, I still like his smile_. The conversation was primarily Beorn’s, and he spoke of the lands on this side of the mountains, and of Mirkwood. The name was a curse in Beorn’s rumbling voice, and the Company grumbled.

Bella tapped Thorin’s arm lightly, and spoke quietly when he turned to face her. “Is the forest that bad?”

He nodded, face gravely majestic _and not brooding for once_. “It will be the most dangerous obstacle we face until we reach the the Lonely Mountain.”

She frowned and felt her pulse quicken as her mind, as always, went to Azog. “Enemies?”

In the light of the candles the animals had just brought to the table, it was still difficult for Bella to see, but she thought his eyes might have widened a fraction. “No! No, only that the forest itself is treacherous.” His hand edged forward until the tips of his fingers met hers, but he didn't look away from her as he promised, “No one will hurt you like that again as long as I live.” _This wasn’t what I meant when I thought about him looking at me. And why can I hug Fíli and Kíli, and feel nothing, but all he does is barely touch me and I feel strange again?_  

But still, she had to blink away tears and fight to keep her tone light. “A weighty promise, indeed, since Dwarves live so much longer than Hobbits.”

If she had looked away for an instant she would have missed the flash of pain in his eyes, but had no time to wonder about it at the moment. “And yet, a promise I intend to keep.” Her eyes widened at his earnest, nearly inaudible tone, and this time she could see that he did blush lightly as he drew away. _Did he not mean for me to hear that?_ Balin asked Thorin something in Khuzdûl, quietly, but Bella could hear that he was irritated, even if she didn't know exactly what he was saying. Ducking her head, she focused again on her food, although her fingers were cold without his there, and finished off her seventh and eighth plates of the night before she felt full enough to refuse another refill. After that, she drew Fíli into conversation about his favorite memories of Ered Luin. Balin switched to Westron at one point, but she avoided listening in, and Thorin didn't try to talk to her again.

After everyone finished and the table was cleared, the Dwarves led the conversation, talking mainly about metal and mathoms, as near as Bella could decipher the technical terms they used. Inspired by how well Fíli had taken to the topic she’d suggested, she went about trying, and eventually succeeding, to get the Dwarves to talk about their favorite memories of mining and smithing. She liked the subject much better, and they seemed to, as well; when they spoke of metal and jewels and such in broad terms, they hadn't laughed or smiled half as much as they did now. All of them had something to add, although Kítos’ was about a book she’d worked on, and Bifur and Bofur both spoke of wooden toys they’d made. 

Bella was surprised, though, when Thorin spoke of a necklace and tiara set he’d made for his sister; she would have thought he made weapons or somesuch, if he worked with his hands at all, but he detailed the difficulty in getting… what was it? hauyne, that was it, getting pieces of hauyne that fit the design he was working with, and he told the story in such a way that even something as trivial as window-shopping was scintillating. He didn't speak with his hands like his nephews sometimes did, though he would occasionally use them to illustrate how small or big a piece was, but his expressions were captivating, in a way. He wasn’t an expressive person, by any means, but if Bella watched him closely, she could see a dozen emotions in his face where most people would have two or three, but only one or two when she expected half a dozen. She’d never had the chance to study him like this, before, not so relaxed and happy and open, and she was fascinated.

After a little while, Beorn rose, and the conversation trickled to a halt. He waved a hand. “No, don’t stop on my account. I have matters to attend to, and I don’t believe I’ll be back soon. Make use of the house, take whatever supplies and food you need, but don’t leave until I return. And stay indoors during night.” 

He looked so grim as he added the last that Bella spoke for the Company before she thought. “We will.” A heartbeat later, she realized what she’d done and looked at Thorin, but he had no disapproval in his eyes, only a silent question, ‘do you trust him’. 

Bella nodded inconspicuously, and he looked up at Beorn. “You have our word and our thanks.” The Man left then, slamming the door shut behind him, but the conversation didn't resume. Instead, Thorin glared at the Company. “Do any of you have something to say to Bella?” _What is he talking about?_

Fíli and Kíli both turned beet-red and began squirming, while Dwalin just crossed his arms and smirked. Balin smacked him and turned to Bella with an embarrassed smile. “On behalf of my brother, I’d like to apologize for our manners the night we met.” _What?!_

“Us too!”

She barely had time to register Bofur’s contribution before Kítos spoke. “And us. We had no idea you weren't expecting us, but even so, we shouldn't have barged in like we did.”

“Especially us.” Fíli looked pained, and Kíli was nodding vigorously beside her. “We literally barged in, and we never apologized for that, so… we’re sorry.”

Oin muttered something in Khuzdûl that made the Dwarves laugh, but a moment later, Gloin pointed to Fíli. “What he said.”

Thorin was glowering again, but Bella just laughed. “I already forgave you all ages ago, but your apologies are accepted. Although someone hasn't apologized yet.” 

She gave Gandalf her fiercest scowl, and was rewarded with a second of stammering before the wizard collected himself. “I apologize for the necessity of surprising you, my dear.”

Fíli and Kíli exclaimed angrily, but she held up a hand to stop them. “Apology accepted, I suppose.” The Company all rounded on her with a range of shocked and scandalized expressions, and she shrugged. “Well, at the time I would have slammed the door in your faces if you’d been polite, and I’m far more grateful than annoyed that I came along, which I wouldn't have otherwise, so really, it’s thanks to Gandalf I have two brothers now.” _Any family at all, really_. 

The Dwarves all grumbled for a little while, in between sending her odd glances, but settled down eventually. After a few minutes silence, they began humming. Bella wasn’t sure which of them had started it, but it didn't really matter because all of them joined in before she could blink. Granted, she acknowledged, leaning against Kíli’s shoulder, she was fading quickly, and her blinks were hardly swift, but even so. They were singing the same song that had haunted her that morning in Bag-End, although the verses were different. For a moment, listening to the familiar melody, she was in her father’s house again, watching the candlelight play in Thorin’s eyes. 

Kíli shifted, and she nearly fell into his lap. “Were you asleep, nan’ith?”

Yawning, it took her a moment to answer. “‘Dunno. M’be. ’S l’te ’n’ ‘m f’ll, wh’t d’y’ ‘sp’ct?” 

Her eyes fell closed, and she was only aware of Kíli picking her up and carrying her because he swayed slightly as he walked, or at least he swayed her, and it sent her to sleep imagining she was on a great ship, like in the stories, being rocked by gentle waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little later than usual, I ended up watching more stuff than usual this afternoon. Don't really have many notes for this one, so ta 'til Wednesday!


	27. Hadedlihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella gets a clue. (Finally!)

Bella jerked awake, hyperventilating as she fought to untangle herself from the bindings Azog had put on her, _or was it Iestyn, or Smaug?_ The Slave-Guards grabbed at her, but she scrambled away from them, heart pounding, until her back was against a wall and she curled into a tight ball, hiding her face as she waited for the pain to start. But… there was no pain, not in her back, not her chest, not anywhere. Actually, she was cold. _The camps are never cold, not with the fires everywhere_. Voices caught her attention, the language unexpected. _Since when do Orcs speak Westron?_

She uncurled just enough to peek over her arm, hoping beyond hope that it was only a drone, not Iestyn, not Azog. Ice-blue eyes nearly set her hiding again, but Azog had never looked so afraid. Slowly, she realized that the blue was framed by thick brows, nearly-black brown hair, streaked with silver, above them. The Guards stepped forward to the dark one’s side, and she realized that one had the dark one’s eyes and bearing, while the other one had his coloring, but brown eyes to match his hair. Both of them looked just as afraid of her, _no, afraid_ _for_ _me_ , as the first one. Other faces appeared behind the three, and all at once, Bella remembered: the dark one was Thorin, the ‘Guards’ were his nephews, her brothers, and the Company was in Beorn’s house. The heat of Azog _/Smaug_ ’s fire had only been the furnaces whose beads she wore, and the bindings had been their arms and legs, holding her close, trying to keep her safe.

Her breath hitched in her chest and Fíli and Kíli darted forward as her eyes welled up. The boys pulled her into a hug that she returned as best she could, hushing her apologies all the while. “You have nothing to apologize for, Mamahhahdûna.”

Kíli’s soft voice only made her cry harder. “But I hit you, I know I did!”

Fíli chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Those swats? We’ll have to work on your hand-to-hand if that was supposed to hurt.” They held her until her tears slowed and she gently pushed them away, ignoring their protests. The rest of the Company was nowhere to be seen, but she heard someone talking to the boys as she walked onto the porch. That was empty, as well, and she sat on the edge, letting her feet brush against the flowers there, letting the fragrance and the sun and the buzzing of bees half as big as her fist wash away the last of her dream.

A soft scuffing noise broke the hush, and she turned to see Thorin standing some thirty feet or so away, holding two bowls. The incongruity of Thorin _Broodyface McMajestic_ Oakenshield carrying dishes like a server at the Prancing Pony would've made her laugh, if it weren’t for the solemn look on his face. After a moment, he moved toward her, slowly, and she realized he had gotten her attention on purpose, so that he wouldn't surprise her. He handed her a bowl, then just stood there. Looking up at him, she remembered that he had been there when she woke up, and she flushed.

Ducking her head, she muttered, “I’m only going to get even more of a crick in my neck if you’re standing and I’m sitting.” He sat a solid foot away from her, the other bowl between them, but said nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was glowering at the flowers, eyes flicking all over the garden, but never to her. The wish that he would look at her was a surprise, as were the words that came out of her mouth. “Fairly certain the bees haven't done anything to offend you.”

His eyes met hers, and she couldn’t look away. A few thudding heartbeats later, he gave a ghost of a smile. “How would you know? Maybe I was stung as a child.”

Her lips twitched. “Well, that would explain the grouchiness, but not the sense of direction. Are you sure you were never dropped on your head?”

“Only once,” he was holding back a smile, but his eyes betrayed him, “But Dwalin apologized.” She laughed, head falling back, eyes falling closed, for a moment, then her breath hitched again. Fixing her eyes on an especially bumbling bee, she inhaled shakily, blinking back fresh tears. “…I’m sorry.” His voice was low, and the regret there almost tangible. “I’ll get the boys.”

“No!” She nearly spilled the food in her bowl, but it worked. Thorin settled back onto the wood as though he hadn't been about to leave, and watched her cautiously. “No,” she repeated, “I don’t… They…” She set the bowl on her other side so that she could draw her legs up, and rested her chin on her knee. “They’ll want to make it better, and they won’t leave me alone.”

“Do you want me to tell them to stop?” He sounded confused, but serious.

She shook her head. “No, usually it helps, but right now…” She closed her eyes and raised her head to the sun. “Right now being out here, seeing and hearing and smelling all this, it’s helping more than they could.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Do you want me to leave?” _NO, no, never! Wait, never?_

Forcing her jumbled thoughts to the back of her mind, she shook her head again. “No. You…” _make me feel safe, you confuse me more than anyone, you’re as bright as the sun, but I can’t look away_. “… You don’t sound like an Orc.”

It was a poor explanation to her mind, but he soberly nodded as though he understood her perfectly. _Maybe he does_. “I help you stay in the present?” _He sounds almost hopeful, if a little wary_. She nodded. He sighed. “Is that what your dream was about?” His voice was more gentle than she’d ever heard it.

She didn't answer for a moment, trying to find the words. “In the **Orc-Camps** ,” He didn't flinch like Dwalin had at the Black Speech, but he did frown. “There were campfires everywhere. Even in the summer, they always kept the fires going. That was my job, for the first few months. Tending the fire. And for a while, until they realized I wouldn't run, they would put bindings on me, tethering me to a **Slave-Guard** so if I woke, so would he.” She hugged her knees a little tighter, and picked at the seams of the tunic. “I dream about that sometimes, but usually…” She wiped at her eyes as she trailed off.

“Usually you don’t have two Dwarf furnaces heating and tangling you up.” All she gave him was a sniffle, but he seemed to take that as an answer in and of itself. “Has that happened before?”

Turning her head sideways, she fixed her eyes just past Thorin’s shoulder, keeping his face in sight, but deliberately avoiding his eyes. “For the first few months after I came back to the Shire, it happened every night. A couple times a night, usually.” Against her will, when his expression changed, her eyes flicked to his. He looked horrified, and Bella tightened her arms around her legs just slightly, looking away again. “I broke Primula’s nose, once.” _Why did I say that?!_ “She kept telling me she didn’t hold it against me, but I never really believed her until I realized Drogo was coming to see her twice as often after that.”

The thought of her cousins brought a genuine, if teary, smile to her face, and Thorin’s expression softened. “It sounds as though they love each other dearly.”

“They do.” Her smile widened. “People act as though the fact that they’re Paired makes it automatic, but I’ve known Pairs who’ve been married for years who don’t care about each other as deeply as Prim and Drogo.”

His brow furrowed. “Pairs?”

Blinking at him, it took her a moment to realize. “Oh! You weren’t— you didn’t—“ Blushing, she intentionally stopped and gathered her thoughts. “Balin and I talked about it before Rivendell. I forgot you hadn’t been part of the conversation.”

He was smirking at her, faintly, and she glared weakly at him. “I take it Pairs are the Hobbit equivalent of Ones?”

“Yes, although Ones sound rather cold to me.” His face twitched briefly into a glower, and she snickered. “That’s exactly how Balin and Ori looked when I said that to them. But just being pointed toward someone, it doesn’t sound any more personal than hanging a sign around their neck.”

“So what are Pairs like?” For a few moments, all she did was stare at him. His eyes were guarded, but he seemed almost anxious to hear the answer. _No, why would he be?_

As she thought over all the descriptions she’d heard over the years, her expression softened. “Like… watching a wildflower bloom, or following a stream through the woods. That was how my father put it, but I think I like Drogo’s analogy best. He said it was like looking into the night sky, at the stars, and knowing that one of them was shining for him, but he couldn’t tell which. Every night, the stars moved, just a hair, but he didn’t notice until they formed a single, luminous constellation, more beautiful than any had been on its own. And once he saw it, once he realized Prim was his Vashil, he couldn’t look away.” Sniffling, her smile widened, though her voice broke. “He calls her ‘Stars’.” Impulsively, she righted her head and stared at the garden as she continued, not wanting to see his reaction. _Wait, why not?_ “I don’t know that I’m Paired with anyone, but… I want to be. I want to have someone like that. My Stars.”

His voice was soft and low, with some emotion in it that she couldn’t identify. “It sounds beautiful.” Heart in her throat, she simply nodded and wiped her cheeks. They sat quietly for a few minutes, until she calmed enough to unfold herself and put her feet into the flowers again. When he spoke again, his voice was near-inaudible, and she knew somehow that he was giving her an excuse not to answer if she didn't want to. “Why wouldn't you run?”

Her lips quirked into a broken smile. “They had my parents.” For an instant she was tempted to leave it at that, but it was nowhere near a full reason. “At first, Father was too weak to run, then they were both too afraid of my getting punished again,” She rubbed at her chest unconsciously as she remembered getting the scars, “And then they were gone. For a while after that, I almost didn't see the point in running.”

He didn't move his head, but she could feel his eyes on her. “But you did.”

She huffed, half-laughing, half holding back a grimace. “Three years after they died. Well,” She chuckled a little, not sure whether she was laughing or beginning to cry, “That wasn’t really running. That was seeing how long it would take Azog to notice I was gone. It was another three years before I actually ran.” 

She saw his fists clench where they rested on his legs. “The Defiler was your owner.”

“No.” The word was a crack of lightning, the reaction automatic, and she winced at his jerk. _I didn’t mean to startle you_. Deliberately softening her tone, she closed her eyes. “Not owner. The slaves— We agreed, most of us, that we would never call them our owners, or masters. We were not, are not, possessions to be owned, not animals to be broken and mastered. We called them holders, because they could hold us, imprison us, even force us to obey them, but they couldn't control our thoughts, and they couldn't take our dignity. No matter how much they tried. 

“Some slaves disagreed, of course. They said that there was no difference between controlling our actions and our thoughts, or that we were animals to them, but I never agreed.” She snorted, somewhat self-deprecatingly. “I was too afraid of the Orcs to actually call them ‘holders’ to their faces, but I never called them ‘master’ or ‘owner’, either. But yes. Azog was my second holder.”

“What happened to the first?” Thorin’s voice was quiet again, the same unspoken offer, _answer or not, it’s up to you_. 

“Azog killed him. He only held me for a few months, anyway. I don’t even remember his name anymore.” She half-expected Thorin to keep asking about the Camps, but he said nothing for long minutes. “Thank you. For distracting me.” _Even if I had to ruin it._

He turned to face her then, and she saw the same intensity in his eyes as he’d had last night, that made her want to run away _and pull him closer and never look away. Wait, what?_ “You’re welcome.” Abruptly, he looked away and stood. 

She stifled the urge to call him back, but was distracted when she realized he had left the second bowl behind. “Your food!”

He didn't slow or look back at her, but he sounded amused. “They’re both for you; you missed breakfast.” 

As he disappeared inside, she picked up her bowl and started eating. _That was definitely kind of him. He didn’t have to sit with me for so long, although he could have sat a little closer. Wait, no, that would be improper, that would be practically scandalous! Although I do sleep next to him, or I did. Will I have to move now? The boys haven't said anything about it. Fíli did glare at him yesterday, though. I never did ask what that was about. And how do Fíli’s eyes manage to look almost exactly like Thorin’s and nothing alike at the same time?! Those eyes… he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, like he can’t look… away…_

_He looks at me like I look at him, except he knows why— Why do I look at him? Why can’t I breathe when he looks at me, why does my heart start pounding whenever he does, or when he smiles at me? Why—..._

_No, that’s ridiculous. He’s a king, he’s a Dwarf, and a hundred and fifty years older than me to boot! Why would… why would he… No. No, he is not interested in me, he’s… he’s making sure I’m alright, making sure his Burglar is functional. Except he hasn’t called me ‘Burglar’ since the Carrock, and he hadn’t for ages before that; he’s been calling me ‘Miss or Mistress Baggins’ since Rivendell. That… That was a dream, when he said I was regal, right? But the way he looked at me then, that was how he looks at me now._

_That wasn’t a dream, was it?_ The bowl fell as her fingers loosened, and she watched it tumble into the garden. Another empty bowl was beside her, and she realized she’d eaten automatically while she thought, not even paying attention to the taste. If it hadn't been for the _excited/dreadful/nervous_ churning in her stomach, she might have gone to the kitchen for more. Instead, she shoved the feeling to the back of her mind and stood. _Beorn said he had fabric and thread I could use. Where was it?_

She caught sight of a lean dog at the end of the garden and walked over to it, trying not to flinch when she realized that even on all four legs, it was bigger than her. “Could you take me to the sewing things, please?” The dog woofed with a nod, and proceeded to push at her gently until she started walking to the stand of buildings to the right of the main hall. She bit her lip as they walked, side-eying the hound. Its shoulders were at her eye level, and it could easily rest its head on hers. But it didn't touch her again, and didn't make a sound until they reached the buildings. It pushed a door open, then sat beside it and woofed gently, as if to say ‘here you are’. She smiled slightly, and thanked it, hoping it wasn’t offended that she kept her distance as she entered the room. As it stood to go, she turned back. “Would it be too much trouble if you could fetch Thorin’s jacket? I think Oin has it, and his shirts.” The beast nodded again, and trotted off.

She turned back to the room, and examined it as best she could. There wasn’t much fabric, and most of it was wool, but there was enough. She got down, with difficulty, a few yards of broadcloth, cashmere, and flannel, then grabbed a yard of loden as well. Spreading them out on the floor, she sorted them by function: the broadcloth would do well for a new cloak, with a loden backing to keep the rain off; the cashmere for a couple of shirts; the flannel for a new waistcoat, though she'd have to put in laces rather than button-holes, as there weren’t any buttons here; and, after a brief hesitation, she grabbed a yard of cambric for new undergarments. 

As she began the last, having decided it was the most pressing, she remembered Beorn’s explanation that sheep have to be sheared, and ‘what’s the point in keeping raw wool?’. When he’d said that he traded for other fabrics sometimes, she hadn't expected cotton, but was glad nonetheless. After dragging a box in front of the door, she stripped and tried on the new set; she’d had to triple layer it to get the right thickness, but it worked well for a plain brassiere. She pulled on her trousers and tunic before turning back to the rest of the fabric, but a scratching at the door distracted her.

 _The dog!_ She whirled around to open the door and saw Oin standing next to the hound. His eyes widened, but all he did was huff and walk away as the dog dropped a pile of clothes at her feet. “Thank you, truly.” She couldn’t bring herself to pet it or anything, but it wagged its tail regardless. Picking up the clothes as the hound walked away, she realized that it must have carried them in its mouth the whole way, but apart from two wet spots, there wasn’t a mark on them. The damp spots were slightly disgusting, but she was impressed nonetheless that it hadn't damaged them at all.  Laying them out on the floor, she saw that the left sleeve of the shirt had been cut off and there was another cut, stemming from that, that went to the collar, _probably so Oin could get to the wound_ , and both articles displayed three bloodstained claw marks. She winced at the sight, but recognized that the wounds would have been long, but shallow. There was nothing she could do for the jacket but sew it up and try to get the blood out, but… 

A conversation from the previous day came back to her. Fíli had said something about her back as they walked, and she’d flushed. “Bella, what’s wrong?” 

Kíli had smacked his arm and hissed something in Khuzdûl, then turned to her. “Gandalf said the Shire was peaceful. Not many Hobbits have any scars, do they?” She’d shaken her head mutely, mortified. Kíli had taken her by surprise when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, but she’d leaned into the embrace as much as she could while they were still walking. “Almost no Dwarf is unscarred. We see them as a record of what we’ve survived, not what we’ve lost.”

“Even if we lose a limb, it just proves that we were strong enough to survive it.” Fíli had kissed her on the head, then hugged her himself when Kíli let go. “Any Dwarrow who see your scars will see a woman who could survive the worst the world has to offer and come out standing.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if some Dwarrow are jealous, even!” Kíli had sounded far too cheery for talking about scars. “Maybe we should think about sewing the lines onto your jacket when you get a new one. That way you won’t have to strip or anything to show them off.” She’d smacked him, as did Fíli, though the blond seemed to be considering it, and thought to herself that no Dwarf, Dam or otherwise, would be jealous of her, which in turn made her think of courting, but what he’d said had stuck. Thorin’s shirt was plain blue, for the most part, and it would be easy for her to fix it seamlessly, but…

Before she could talk herself out of it, she cut a few patches out of the flannel and sewed them under the claw marks, the white wool shining out of the blue, highlighting the injury. Next, she picked out silver thread and embroidered a quick border around each of the patches, incorporating the bloodstains into the pattern, then sewed the split together and the sleeve back on with the closest blue she could find. The color didn't quite match, but it was barely noticeable from a few feet away. She mended the jacket as best she could, but the fur refused to lie flat, and the joins were much more obvious.

Turning back to the rest of her sewing, it took less than an hour to finish the cloak, and the waistcoat was done an hour after that. She was about to start sewing together the first shirt when someone knocked at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, translation first: Mamahhahdûna means 'One Who Has Been Wronged', I thought it was fitting, and that's definitely what Kíli thinks. Also, the dog is pretty much this ((https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zeus_(dog)). Sorry about all the sewing details, but my Mom sews and I've been around that all my life, so it just seemed fitting (ha) to me to include it. Lastly, and surprisingly, bras totally could be a thing in Middle-Earth. There was a 14-15th century find in Lengberg, Austria, where they found the remains of what basically looks like a modern bra. DaisyViktoria on Deviantart reconstructed it here (http://daisyviktoria.deviantart.com/art/15th-Century-Lengberg-Bra-317608101) (http://www.faerie-queen.com/15th-century-bra-and-panties/), and here's an article talking about it, if you're interested (http://www.historyextra.com/lingerie).
> 
> P.S., sorry for the late update!


	28. Gimonlihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Bonus update!

“Come in!” The door opened slowly, and Fíli poked his head in as though he thought she’d be indecent. When he met her eyes, he flushed and stood straighter, shutting the door behind him.

He opened his mouth for a second, then his eyes flicked to her hair and he scowled. “What are you doing to your braid?” She frowned, raising her hand to the braid at her temple, and bit back a laugh when she felt pins there; she’d been keeping them there along with a needle and a piece of chalk she’d used to mark out lines.

She looked up at him sheepishly. “I’ve been careful not to damage it, I promise.” He kneeled in front of her, gently pushing her chin with one finger so that her head turned to the side. She went along with the motion, half-hoping he’d decide that it was unsalvageable and had to be redone; he had done a different braid every time, and she was curious what he’d come up with next. He nodded briskly, taking his hand away, and frowned at the fabric behind her before he noticed the clothes strewn about the room.

He gaped for a moment, head swiveling between her and the clothes. “You— you made all these?”

She rolled her eyes and picked up the front and back of the shirt, pinning them right-sides together. “I lived on my own for the better part of six years; you think I can’t make my own clothes?”

“But aren't there tailors in the Shire?” He didn't mean anything by it, Bella knew that, but she still tensed.

She pulled the needle out of her braid and threaded it, avoiding Fíli’s eyes. “There are.” Forcing some cheer into her tone, she swiftly began sewing the edges. “But Hobbits are terrible gossips, and there’s no such thing as confidentiality.” Fíli lightly touched her arm, and she looked up to see concern in his eyes. She set down the shirt and looped her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his. “I’m alright,” her voice broke. “I know I don’t sound like it, but I am. I’m just still getting used to not having to pretend everything’s okay.”

Drawing back slightly, Fíli kissed her forehead and pulled her into a full hug. “Mamahmarrûna, you never have to pretend with us. Promise you never will.”

Holding back tears again, she smiled wetly. “I’ll do my best, but it’s a hard habit to break.” She rested in his arms for a moment, then drew back to pick up her shirt again.

“Do…” She looked at Fíli questioningly, but he avoided her eyes. “Do you want to sleep somewhere else? After this morn—”

“No!” Still holding her sewing, she pinched Fíli’s mouth with her free hand and made him look at her. “If I don’t get to apologize for things I can’t help, then neither do you. This morning was neither of our faults, and even if it happens again, I still won’t want to move.” She let him go, only for him to hug her again.

“I’ll hold you to that, Mafabbarûna.” She giggled and hugged him back. “But is there anything we can do better next time?”

Her smile abated, and she spoke slowly as she thought. “Don’t grab at me. It makes me feel like I’m being chased, and don’t touch me until I wake up completely. Talk to me in Westron, or Khuzdûl, but not loudly. That was one of the things that woke me up this morning, hearing Westron.”

“Give you space, talk to you.” He nodded. “We can do that.” He trailed off at the end, his arms stiffening around her. “What is that?” She followed his gaze to Thorin’s shirt where it lay on a chair, his jacket over the back. “Bella, did y—”

“No!” She clambered out of his lap, turning away to hide her blush. “I’m not trying to court Thorin!” _Although I wouldn't mind if he courted m— WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?_ “I just—” Her voice broke, and Fíli tugged at her arm until she faced him. He looked worried, and wary, but not angry. Her resolve and voice both broke. “He saved my life, Fíli. All of you did, and in the Shire, I would be obligated to at least give you all a good meal or five. I have to do something to pay you all back.” _But especially Tho— NOT especially Thorin, everyone_ _and_ _Thorin._

Evidently unaware of the turn her thoughts insisted on taking, Fíli looked conflicted. “This is important to you?” She nodded. “And just cooking for us wouldn't be enough?” Thinking of all the help everyone had been over the journey, she shook her head. He tilted his head as he thought. _Kíli does that too. Maybe they learned it from Thorin, he does it all the t— No! Focus!_ “What if… what if I got everyone to let you do their mending, and you cook for us tonight? Would that be enough?”

She bit her lip. “And no misunderstandings?” She blushed as she remembered Oin’s teasing the night after the Carrock.

Fíli smiled. “I’ll make sure of it.” He fell back a little when she threw her arms around him, and had to straighten before he could hug her back, but Bella didn't care, and knew he didn't either. Her ‘obligation’ wasn’t quite as severe as she’d made it sound, but it had been weighing on her, and this way no one could accuse her of impropriety. _Thinking of which_ …

“Fíli?” She flushed carnation-red, she could feel it, _he already has all the ammunition he needs; it can’t get any worse_. “When you tell the others, could you say the reason I fixed Thorin’s first was because you forgot to get everything else?”

“Because you asked me to and I got distracted?” He smiled at her and tapped her on the nose. “Just what I was thinking.” He stood to go, and Bella settled back down to her sewing. “I was also thinking—”

“That if I’m cooking tonight it’s the perfect opportunity to give Kíli the weed-soup I promised you?” She grinned up at him. “Already thought of it, although I’ll need either you or Oin to tell me which plants will make him sick and which will just be disgusting.”

“Easy enough, since you’re cooking.” He laughed. “You know, I think I can see a long and thriving career in pranks once you get settled in.” She laughed, too. It had been years since she had a family like she did with her brothers. Her cousins, especially the Tooks, had been mischievous, but after she’d come back, at first she hadn't wanted to participate, and then they’d simply grown too far apart. Fíli wasn’t the only one looking forward to a little immaturity once this was all done.

By the time Fíli returned with the mending, she’d nearly finished the first shirt, although she’d slowed down when she had to add darts; she’d lost a fair bit of weight, but none of it was in her chest. Fíli’s delivery was bigger than she’d expected, enough so that he’d recruited Kíli to help carry it. The brunet stopped in the door, gaping at the shirt in her hands much as Fíli had.

She sighed and gestured for him to set the clothes down on the table. “Honestly, it’s like you’ve never seen a tailor before.”

“I haven’t!” Bella’s head shot up incredulously.

“Yes, you have, lalkhith, that Dwarrowdam who lived a few doors down from Balin was a tailor. Remember? The one who used to swat you whenever she thought you were up to something?”

“She was?” Fíli rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, and Bella smiled in spite of herself.

“Ignore the lalkhith, the little idiot, he doesn’t pay attention. But Farudàl-u nekâd, tailors, are uncommon in Ered Luin, at least. Tarubàl-u nakdîth, those who sew their own clothes, are even more so.”

Bella gaped at him. “What? But— But what do you do? In the Shire, almost everyone can mend a rip, at least, and most women can make skirts and things.”

They both tilted their heads as Fíli spoke. “Dwarrow tend to focus on mining and smithing than sewing, which is half of why our clothes usually have bits of metal in them. Plus, most Dwarrow work every day, so they don’t have the time to do their own mending.”  
_Oh._ Bella’s eyes widened as she realized, “That’s why it’s part of courting, because you’re offering to do for them what you can’t even do for yourself.”

Kíli grinned and plopped down in front of her. “Exactly. But since pretty much everyone needs pretty much everything mended, we’ve been told to tell you that you can’t see the others until you finish their clothes.”

Fíli sat heavily down next to his brother, ‘accidentally’ elbowing him as he did. “He’s paraphrasing. What Balin said to tell you was that if you don’t mind, he thinks it would be a good idea to get everything done as quickly as possible, since we don’t know when we’ll be leaving.”

Bella went to the table and shuffled the clothes around, eyes widening further as she realized that practically everything but the Company’s boots were here. “And… um, what exactly is the Company wearing right now?”

Kíli grinned. “That’s why you can’t see them. Especially—” Fíli didn't even try to be subtle as he elbowed Kíli this time, but Bella could guess what, or who, he’d been about to name, and felt herself flush down to her toes.

Squaring her shoulders, she pulled out a few articles of clothing and sat in front of the brothers, doing her best to look down her nose at them, despite the fact that, even sitting, they were a head taller than her. “Well, if I’m to mend all of these, then I won’t be able to cook until tomorrow, at least. Do you two know how to wash clothes?”

Fíli’s eyes widened, and he was too slow this time to stop Kíli. “Yes, wh—”

Bella nodded decisively. “Good. Then you can wash the rest while I get started on these.” She found a rip in the top shirt and pinned it closed, tying off the thread in her shirt so she could use the needle. The boys hadn't moved, and she raised an eyebrow at them, aware that she was still rose-red. “Is there a problem?” She threaded her needle, ignoring them completely, and after she started sewing, they got up, grumbling all the while, and carried the piles back out. Just before Kíli kicked the door shut, she called, “And bring back the first few you finish, these won’t last me the entire time.”

Actually, they nearly did. Most of the pieces she’d picked out were easily fixed, but three needed patches, and she embroidered them just as she’d done on Thorin’s shirt, although she altered the pattern a little each time. She’d only resumed work on her own shirt for a few minutes before Kíli came in, muttering under his breath, dumped a load of clean, damp clothes on her, and grabbed the ones she’d fixed, including Thorin’s. Rolling her eyes at his antics, she started on the new clothes, a few of which were difficult enough to fix that they lasted until her brothers returned, dropping the damp garments on the chair and collapsing onto the floor. She let them lie in peace while she finished up.

Snipping the thread on a shirt that was either Dori’s or Balin’s, she wasn’t sure, she held it up to the light and hummed happily. The grey embroidery showed up well on the red fabric. The boys sat up and leaned over it when she set it down, and she quirked an eyebrow at their interest. “Anything wrong?”

Kíli started to say something, but Fíli covered his mouth. “Nothing at all. Do the patterns mean anything?”

She chuckled at the obvious deflection, but bobbed her head from side to side. “Depends on who you ask. I’m modifying some Baggins border motifs, which they would say indicate comfort, honor, et cetera, but with a few Took flairs, which they would say mean adventure or wealth; but ask either one about the other and they would say it’s just a mathom to fill the space.” She grinned at them impishly. “But if you’re rested enough to ask about silly things like embroidery, then you must be rested enough to fetch me some dinner and a candle!” 

Her stomach growled as she spoke, and the boys paled. “Right away, nan’ith!” They stood, spoke, and fled all in perfect synchronicity, and she couldn’t hold back her laughter as she selected her next patients. After nearly an hour, the boys returned with enough food to feed an army, and far more candles than she needed. They sat and ate and talked as the sun set, and when she turned back to her work, her brothers told her stories, some of which she'd already heard from Balin, but the way Fíli and Kíli argued over the best way to tell it was half the fun, so she simply listened and laughed. By the time she blew out the candles and curled up with them, she’d finished almost everything, with a few more items left over that she planned to embroider in the morning.

Her dreams that night were of the Fell Winter, and she burrowed deeper into their arms when she woke, chasing the warmth. Once she convinced Fíli that, yes, she was awake, and no, she was not going to run away or start crying, they were only too happy to hold her until she stopped shivering. Once she did, Fíli ran for breakfast while she cuddled with Kíli and finished the last of the mending. He was comfy and warm, and she might have fallen asleep again if it hadn't been for the way he was constantly in awe of her sewing, biting back gasps and exclamations every few minutes. As she was leaning fully against his chest, she could feel both, and laughed every time. She realized, after the first few times, that he was doing it on purpose, but it was effective nevertheless. 

After a leisurely breakfast with her brothers, she shoved the finished clothes into their arms and ordered them to drop off their clothes after they were done returning everyone’s things to them. Finishing those took her less than an hour altogether, but she waited to call the boys back until after she finished her shirts and a new skirt as well.

“Bella? Are you ready?” Fíli’s voice was plaintive. _Maybe I should've given his things back sooner. He did tease me, though._

She gathered her new shirt and skirt into her arms and pushed the door open. “Ready!” Fíli offered her his arm gallantly, and she giggled taking it. “You’re sure no one will bother me?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure.” She’d been thrilled to learn that Beorn had a bathhouse, if a little surprised. Fíli was annoyed that she’d asked Kíli to guard the door instead of him, but if she was honest, she thought Kíli would overreact a little more than their elder brother if anyone tried to get in. _Not that I think anyone will, but better safe than sorry_. The boys had agreed readily, to her surprise, both that no one would and that she needed a guard anyway.

As she went in, she waved at Fíli, smiled at Kíli, and sighed in utter contentment. The room was ridiculously tall, there was only one type of soap, and everything smelled like wet dog, but there was a bathtub. _That’s all I really need_. Before anything else, she undid her braid just enough to slip the beads off the end, which she handed to Fíli with a meaningful glare. Shutting the door, she slipped off Kíli’s tunic and cracked the door open just enough to hand it to him, then shut it tightly and waited until she heard Kíli sit in front of it before taking off her trousers and underthings. 

Her arms and legs had healed completely now, and the scars on her back and chest had gone back to their normal stiffness, the last of which melted away as she settled into the water. It took her several minutes to completely undo her braid, and even longer to get the filth out of her hair. The bathtub was Hobbit, _or Dwarf,_ sized, and she suspected the Company had just made it, _or modified it_ , the day before. _They had to have entertained themselves somehow_. It was connected to a reservoir, and had a drain in the bottom. After a few minutes of investigation, she figured out how to drain the used water and refill the tub, though the clean water was cold. As she scrubbed at the blood and grime covering her, she had to refill the tub another two times, but at the end she was cleaner than she had been since Rivendell. 

She ran her hands over her new [clothes](http://www.lindybop.co.uk/bottoms-c21/skirts-c5/pixie-elegant-navy-blue-vintage-50s-inspired-dungaree-swing-skirt-p1417), smiling at how well they fit. The shirt was plain, although it only went to her elbows. She was proud of the skirt, though; it was simple enough, and hugged her figure flatteringly, or so she hoped. The top of it rested just under her bust, and was held up by two short suspenders; the hem fell just below her knees. If she were in the Shire, she’d be embarrassed not to have any embroidery on it, and wouldn't wear it without at least a few petticoats underneath it, but it was loose enough that she could move, and that was more important at the moment. 

Picking up her trousers, she stopped with her hand on the door. She could hear Kíli talking to Thorin. Heat flooded through her, and for a moment she wished she’d held on to Kíli’s tunic. Tucking her hair behind an ear, she squared her shoulders. _I’m not in the Shire anymore. I won’t cower for dressing as I like, and I look perfectly respectable, even if I don’t act like it_. She adjusted the straps of her skirt and pushed open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another birthday, this time my youngest niece, who's only turning two, so I doubt she has any idea what today is, but who cares, 'cause birthday!!!!  
> So, translations: Mamahmarrûna means 'One Who Is Prized'; Mafabbarûna means 'One Who Continues To Move Forward'. I'm pretty sure I cobbled the titles together right, and if I did, they should mean 'fixers of clothing' and 'makers of clothing', respectively. corrections welcome, if you speak Khuzdûl!  
> Thorin PoV next chapter!


	29. Tagerlihom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last night at Beorn's.

Thorin snatched his fingers away from his shoulder. Ever since his nephews had handed the mended clothes back to him and he’d seen the patches, he’d found himself stroking the delicate embroidery there absentmindedly. The boys had cheerfully informed him that they’d washed it themselves, and as proud as he was, he did notice that they hadn't been able to completely remove the bloodstains. He’d scowled at first, knowing that Hobbits had no taste for violence and that Bella would've had to stare at the stains as she worked, but then he realized that the needlework was highlighting the stains, not covering them. _She did this for me?_

He’d quickly seen that all of the clothes with patches had similar embellishments, but, to his eyes, no one else’s had the same detail. He’d cursed himself for being a hopeful fool, but his nephews, as well as Dwalin and Bofur, had noticed his attentions and teased him thoroughly. Reminding them he was their King and leader only made them worse. As did askingthem not to say anything to Bella.

A bee ambled past him, and he shook himself out of his thoughts. He’d been standing on the porch, studying the garden for longer than he meant to, and a glance at the sun showed him it was nearly lunchtime. Movement at the edge of his vision drew his eyes to the stand of buildings, including the bathhouse. Kíli was there, he knew, and likely hadn't eaten since breakfast. _Really, I’d only be ensuring my sister-son’s health if I went over there_. Glancing at the door, _no Dwalin, good_ , he walked to Kíli’s side.

“Uncle! What brings you here on such a beautiful day? And I see you appreciate the effort my sister put into that shirt.” Again, Thorin forced his hand away from the stitches as Kíli waggled his eyebrows at him.

“I’m sure everyone appreciates her handiwork.”

Kíli straightened soberly at the gruff tone, meeting Thorin’s eyes intensely. “But not everyone is her One.” _But I’m not hers_. Wincing, Thorin shook his head, but Kíli cut him off, fiercely, if quietly. “You are, and it’s obvious you love her, so why haven't you said anything?!”

“Because she doesn’t feel the same.” 

Kíli gaped at him, then scoffed. Thorin scowled, but his nephew only chuckled. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more oblivious than she is.”

“What—” Thorin’s words died in his throat as the door opened and Bella stepped out. Her hair was loose, copper-gold, and still damp enough for most of the ends to be wavy, rather than curly. She was wearing a shirt more formfitting than any he’d seen on her throughout the journey, and a skirt that was barely more modest. Together, the clothes proved that while her arms were as muscled as he’d tried not to remember, she was curvier than most Dwarrowdams could ever hope to be, and he fixed his eyes on hers to keep from staring at her… assets. In the sunlight, her eyes were the same shade of gold as her hair, with flecks of Moria-silver around the pupil. Kíli distracted her an instant later, and she turned to him, although it took Thorin a little while longer to tear his eyes away from her; _you don’t need to watch her mood, so stop watching her ears!_ When he focused on Kíli’s words, he realized that his nephew was inviting her to lunch, and he had to stop himself from offering her his arm _and proposing on the spot_. 

She looked at him, and smiled cautiously. “I think maybe Dwalin needs to apologize again.”

He smiled back, remembering their conversation the previous morning. “He or Dís. She never dropped me, but she did kick me in the head a few times.” His expression almost fell as he remembered the rest of what she’d said, but he held his smile. _Every time I think she can’t possibly be more Queenly, she does something like tell me how she kept her pride in the worst conditions imaginable._

Laughing, she nodded. “That’s probably what did it.”

Kíli had been looking back and forth between them, brow furrowed. “Did what?”

Thorin smirked at Bella, barely holding back a wink. “Fíli, on the other hand, dropped him quite a few times.” Bella had to cling to Kíli’s arm to keep from falling over as she laughed, but for once, Thorin wasn't jealous. He made her laugh. That was enough. _For now_. 

A great, booming voice interrupted Thorin’s thoughts. “So here you all are still!” Beorn strode over to them, grinning. “Not eaten up by wargs or Orcs or wicked bears yet I see!” The Man stood next to Thorin, who held back a scowl. _I don’t even come to his waist_. Bella grinned at him, but looked up at Beorn when he addressed her a moment later. “Little bunny’s been in my stores, I see, and put them to good use!”

She curtsied to him, the action causing her hair to spill over her shoulders until it looked as though she were garbed in a river of molten gold. She didn't notice Thorin swallow, but Kíli did, and he smirked at his uncle. “I took some liberties, but you did say I could.”

Beorn laughed. “So I did, little bunny, and have you had a chance to graze yet?” _Graze? What is he talking about?_

Bella blushed, and shyly shook her head. “No, but I was hoping I could cook something tonight? It’s been so long since I’ve been in a proper kitchen.”

The Man laughed again. “Of course! My kitchen is at your disposal, my dear, as is my garden.” He set off to the house, Bella at his side, the two of them chatting about various recipes, and came to an agreement that she would make one course and a dessert, while his animals would provide the rest of the food as usual. Thorin walked on Beorn’s other side, Kíli trailing behind him and ribbing him about Bella every few seconds after he’d caught Thorin watching the shifting muscles in her back, dry-mouthed. Thorin had refused to dignify any of his comments with a response. When they entered the house, Bella and Beorn were discussing one of his animals, and so didn't notice how the rest of the Company’s jaws dropped when they saw her.

Beorn distracted them quickly enough over lunch, describing how he’d gone to the Misty Mountains and seen the aftermath for himself. He had caught an warg and its Rider, and they had confirmed Gandalf’s tale. Turning to Bella, who was halfway through her fifth plate, the Man said, much more gently than he’d described the Orc’s death, “It also told me of you, and that its leader seeks you and Oakenshield both. I had hoped you and the wizard had lied about your suffering. I wish you had.” _As do we all_. “As it is, I can only say that I have hurried home as fast as I could to see that you, all of you, were safe, and to offer you any help that I can. But I have wondered, why do two Dwarven princes shelter a Shireling so thoroughly?” He looked at the boys, then at Bella. “Are they indebted to you?”

Thorin saw the glint of tears on her eyelashes as she smiled, but wasn’t sure if anyone else had. Bella shook her head. “I’m indebted to them, more than I can ever repay.” Thorin’s heart wrenched. The boys both took her hands, and Kíli quietly insisted that she owed them nothing.

Fíli looked soberly up at Beorn. “She is our nan’ith, our sister, as much as if she’d been born to us.”

Beorn regarded him for a long moment, then watched as Kíli leaned his forehead against Bella’s and she hugged him. The Man smiled. “I shall think more kindly of Dwarves after this.” For the rest of the day, Thorin, Gandalf, and Beorn planned out what supplies they would need in Mirkwood, and Beorn sketched out a rough map of the forest, with instructions written on it: don’t stray from the path; don’t touch the water; don’t stray from the path. By the time the animals cleared the table for dinner, Thorin was more convinced than ever that Mirkwood was the most foul place in existence, and just as sure that they had no choice but to go through. 

When the soup was brought out, Thorin noticed that Fíli had an odd expression, _he’s hiding something_. Kíli and Bella were chatting about something or other, and so were the last ones to begin eating. Kíli spat out the soup. _What is he doing? This is delicious!_

Bella took a sip of his. “I’m sorry, is that not good? Here, you can have mine.” Fíli immediately gave his soup to her, and Thorin caught her winking at her eldest brother. _What are you up to?_ Kíli spat out the new soup, as well, and waved off Bofur’s offer of a trade. Fíli started to laugh, then broke off abruptly and glanced at Bella sheepishly. Thorin held back chuckles of his own, and found himself admiring the impish glint in her eye more than once over the course of the meal. The quality of her cooking hadn't been a surprise to Thorin, _I had some in Bag-End, if not much_ , but even so, he was impressed. Finally, the dessert was served. The Company dug in eagerly, save two: Thorin and Kíli. Kíli was visibly hesitant, and Thorin was watching for his reaction. _If she did something to his soup, she’ll probably have done something to the pastry_. As he expected, Kíli took one nibble and looked horrified. 

Bella, this time, grabbed his serving and took an astonishingly large bite for someone of her size, and grinned at him. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about; this is some of the best cooking I’ve ever done!” 

At that, Fíli collapsed into laughter, and Kíli glanced between the two for a few seconds before tasting Fíli’s pastry and hiding his face in his hands. Bella started laughing, too, and the Company began passing Kíli’s dessert around the table, trying it themselves. When it got to Thorin, there was barely enough for one bite, but he left a piece for Fíli. It was disgusting. She’d added something to what she’d given everyone else, something bitter, that was almost overwhelming. After tasting his own pastry, Thorin joined in to the laughter, and met Bella’s eyes almost without meaning to. He gave her a mock-solemn nod, and she blushed, but her smile widened until it was nearly blinding. That smile stayed with him through the rest of the night, through all the discussions of Mirkwood, through watching Fíli braid her hair again, and when he fell asleep, he held onto the memory of that smile, and the fact that he’d never seen it used for anyone in the Company but him.

 

They set out the next morning on Beorn’s ponies with enough provisions to last weeks, if they didn't ration, and months if they did. It took a further three days to reach the entrance Beorn had advised they use, and the Company spent this time with a sort of forced cheer, trying to put the slog awaiting them out of their minds. Several times, Thorin saw Bella watching something behind them, especially at night, but could never see anything himself. When she wasn’t talking or sparring with her brothers, more often than not she was spending time with Ori. Thorin might have been jealous were it not for the fact that she still smiled at him, made faces at something the boys did, still extended those little jokes to him. _I don’t understand her, but I’m not about to push her away. But why is Dwalin mad?_

The day they reached Mirkwood, the Company nearly revolted. Thorin had sworn to Beorn that they would send the ponies back at the forest edge, but neither he nor the rest were happy about it. Gandalf called them fools; Thorin saw Bella nodding out of the corner of his eye. The wizard continued, “Beorn is not as far off as you seem to think, and you had better keep your promises anyway, for he is a bad enemy. Miss Baggins’ eyes are sharper than yours, if you have not seen each night after dark a great bear going along with us or sitting far off in the moon watching our camps.” _That’s what she saw?_ Thorin looked toward Bella, ready to respond to her smirk, but she wasn’t there. “Not only to guard you and to guide you, but to keep an eye on the ponies too.” As he listened, Thorin surreptitiously glanced around for Bella, and saw her standing near the forest, facing away from him. “Beorn may be your friend, but he loves his animals as his children. You do not know what kindness he has shown you in letting Dwarves ride them so far and so fast, nor what would happen to you, if you tried to take them into the forest.”

Fíli said something to Gandalf, but Thorin didn't hear, although he vaguely registered that the wizard would not be traveling with them any longer. Bella still hadn't moved. “Bella?” He had tried not to get the others’ attention, but it was impossible. The Company looked around, and several stepped toward her.

Thorin waved them off as she murmured, barely audible, “This forest feels… sick, as if a disease lies upon it. Is there no way around?” Her voice shook slightly, and her brothers rushed forward.

Gandalf watched her grimly, and shook his head. “Not unless we go two hundred miles north, or twice that distance south.” 

She stood there for a few seconds while the boys embraced her, then shook them off and turned around. “We should unload the ponies.” Her face was pale, almost as drawn as during her nightmares. Thorin looked at the trees helplessly. _What is this place that it affects her this badly? If there were any other way_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing in particular for this one, but Thorin's PoV continues into Mirkwood, so you have that to look forward to, at least!  
> Any Merlin fans reading, I've got a couple of fem!Merlin stories in the works, and I would love to have some help with them. Potential betas, comment or email and let me know if you're interested!


	30. Tarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *evil grin*

Thorin spun on his heel and strode to his pony. “Bofur! Refill the water skins.” Bofur nodded and took Bifur, as well. After getting his pack down, Thorin began to redistribute the supplies throughout the Company. Bella caught on quickly and brought the packs Fíli and Kíli released to Thorin’s side, assisting him once all the ponies were unloaded. At one point, the two of them were less than a foot apart, both bent over the same pack. He watched her for a long moment, and couldn’t help quietly asking, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

She didn't answer for a few seconds, then looked up at him. She was still pale, nearly colorless against her hair and eyes, but her expression was resolute. “Did you want to go into Rivendell?” He held back a grimace, remembering her terror. Her eyes stayed on his. “There was no other option then, there’s no other option now. I’ll live.” She looked toward Mirkwood, her expression tensing. “I’ll be happy to leave it behind, but…” She took a deep breath and faced him again, nodding reassuringly. “I’ll live.” Turning back to her work, she ducked her head, and Thorin nearly ordered her to catch up to the now-distant wizard and let him escort her back to Beorn’s. _You_ _lived_ _through the Orc-Camps, and you_ _lived_ _through seeing Azog on the cliff. Telling me you’ll live isn't half as comforting as you seem to think it is_.

The packs were quickly filled with food, all of which contained honey in one form or another, and Beorn had assured them that it would last more than long enough to get them through the forest, if they rationed it. Thorin had put less in Bella’s pack than the others’, instinctually guessing that she would need her strength to face the woods, not to haul what the Dwarrow could more easily carry. Kíli had helped her put her pack on, and shot Thorin an amused glance when he noticed the disparity between his and hers. Ignoring him, Thorin led the group into the trees.

Near the entrance, sunlight faded into a dim haze, and the woods only grew darker as they continued. The path was too narrow to allow anything but traveling in single file, and wound around trees dizzyingly. There was almost no sound; no wind to rustle the leaves, no birds singing, only soft grunts and scuffling that Thorin was never quite sure were real. As the day progressed, the light grew fainter, and Bella often stumbled and had to be steadied by one of her brothers. She never said a word beyond ‘thank you’ until Fíli, at last, gave Kíli his pack and simply carried her. He was walking just behind Thorin, but with how silent the forest was, even if they’d been at the end of the line, the sound of their voices may well have reached him.

“You’re clumsier than usual, nan’ith. I think you were more surefooted in the mountains. Are you sure you aren't half-Dwarf?” His half-hearted teasing fell flat, and Thorin glanced back to see that Bella had her face tucked into Fíli’s neck. For a moment, Thorin imagined her wrapped around him, feeling her pressed against his back, but the fantasy evaporated when she spoke.

Her voice was muffled, but she sounded exhausted. “I’d be more surefooted if I could see where I was going.” _What?_

Fíli stumbled, steadying himself on Thorin’s back for a moment; Thorin forced himself to keep moving rather than grab her off of his nephew’s back and hold her to him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can’t see my hand in front of my face, what else would I mean?” _It’s dark, but not that dark_. Despite her words, her tone was still lethargic, but she quickened it a moment later: “Don’t you dare suggest I go back, Undad. I wasn’t expecting it to be like this, that’s all. I’ll be better in a few minutes.”

“Bella, you’re shaking.” Thorin’s heart clenched. Fíli sounded as concerned as when she’d dreamed of the Camps, even if he was trying to hide it under reproach.

“And once I’m used to this place, I’ll get better.” _I hope so_.

 

A few hours later, they were making camp. Thorin had maneuvered his way beside Bella, although Dwalin was on his other side, glaring at him. She was standing with Kíli while Fíli helped prepare the fire, as it was nearly pitch-black even for the Dwarrow. Her eyes were closed, but her head followed the movements of the Company. _How can she hear them? They’re barely making any noise_. Every so often, some animal would move past in the distance and she would flinch as though it was a few feet away.

The flint struck. 

The sparks took. 

A tiny fire blazed into being. 

Bella opened her eyes to watch it. The only warning Thorin had was when her eyes flicked up; a heartbeat later the Company was surrounded by moths as big as Thorin’s hands, and bats that were even bigger. Bella didn't scream. She didn't try to run. She simply stood there, motionless, eyes wide and panicked, ears tilted back farther than they had been since the cliff, and Thorin pulled her against his chest before he could think twice. He bent his head over hers, eyes shut against the onslaught of vermin, arms wrapped around her, and stayed as still as he could. She was quivering, tremors running all through her, and gripping his jacket tightly. 

The fire was extinguished after an interminable few moments, and the barrage faded back into the trees. A last few moths were caught in everyone’s hair; Thorin slowly pulled a few out of Bella’s braid, trying to prolong the time he could have her in his arms, and at the same time felt wretched for not moving as quickly as he could. Finally, she was free of them, and he straightened to clear out his own hair; his adrenaline was fading, as well, but his heart refused to slow, every move she made quickening his pulse further. She let go of him slowly, her hands lingering on his jacket, _no, she’s just being careful because she can’t see anything, stop getting your hopes up_ , and she held a hand out behind her until Kíli took it and led her to where their bedrolls were laid out. She couldn’t meet his eyes, obviously, but hers stayed fixed on where Thorin was until he moved to lay near the archers.

Dwalin grabbed his arm, hissing in Khuzdûl, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Thorin looked at his friend, _he’s only doing what I asked him to_ , and calmly replied, “Do you think I’m going to leave my One’s side in this place?” Dwalin flinched, and Thorin sighed. “She needs all the help her brothers can give her, but she may well need more. If she does, I have no intention of clambering over half the Company to reach her.”

Dwalin regarded him carefully, then huffed, although his tone was defeated. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this reasonable. You’re definitely in love.”

Thorin smiled despite himself. “I thought people were supposed to get less reasonable when they were in love.”

“That assumes they had any reason to begin with.” Thorin chuckled, but couldn’t refute him. He headed to Bella again, and didn't argue when Dwalin followed him and sat beside him in front of the siblings.

Fíli began to speak, but fell silent when she spoke. “Thorin? Is that you?”

“K—” With a self-deprecating smile, Thorin caught himself and intentionally switched back to Westron. “Yes, it’s me.”

It was hard for him to see her in the gloom, but he thought she was looking at him. “I didn't thank you, before. When the things were flying around. I’m not sure what I would have done, so… Thank you.”

Thorin was tongue-tied, trying to reconcile how weary she sounded with how alive she’d been before they entered this _Mahal-cursed_ forest. All he could say, in the end, was “You’re welcome”. To his ears, it wasn’t nearly enough. He shouldn't have been accepting her thanks, he should have been begging for her forgiveness, for bringing her here, for putting her in a position where she had to come. But he knew that if he tried to say any of that, she would brush it off at best, and argue over it at least. She moved slightly, probably nodding, and laid down. Thorin set Bofur and Ori on watch; as the next youngest in the Company after his nephews, they were less tired than most of them. 

The group was silent for several minutes, until Kíli whispered, “She’s asleep.”

Fíli spoke from next to his brother, “I’m sorry about the fire, Thorin, I didn’t realize—”

“None of us did. You did nothing wrong.”

Dwalin grumbled, “Unlike your uncle. Why did you ask us to look out for you if you’re going to do crap like that?”

“Should I have left her to stand alone, being swarmed by invisible burgarûg?”

“What are you talking about?”

“When your uncle bloody cuddled your sister during an emergency.”

“He w— Kíli?!”

“What?”

“Kíli.”

“She needed help, he helped her, I don’t see why it matters.”

“If she needed help, why didn't you help her?”

“…”

“Kíli?”

“I didn't see. I was trying to get them off of me, and when I turned around, he was holding her. …I’m sorry. I should have noticed.”

“Kí—”

“Bella?!” An instant later, Thorin heard her. His skin crawled as she whimpered, the sound taking him back to the cliff, to holding her as Azog taunted them. As she cried out, audibly struggling against her brothers, Thorin was already moving to her, and wasn’t surprised when she lashed out. She managed to land several hits before he pulled her closer and held her to him with one arm while holding her wrists with the other hand. _Mahal, she’s never fought like this before, what is she seeing?!?_

It took what felt like hours before she stopped struggling, but even then, she pressed into Thorin’s chest almost desperately, tears streaming down her face. She was silent, but Thorin could feel her breath hitching, and held her even closer, wrapping his arms around her while she clung to his jacket, much as they had earlier. Slowly, so slowly, her tears subsided and she relaxed.

He knew that Fíli and Kíli, at the very least, would be listening, and spoke quietly. “It’s faded.”

“Can you let go of her?” Thorin tightened his arms around her reflexively at Fíli’s cold tone, and glanced down where he could feel her head resting on his collarbone.

 _He’s only trying to protect her_. “… I don’t know.” He shifted so that they were lying on their sides, and loosened his grip. Immediately, she tugged herself higher, her head bumping into his chin, and whimpered quietly. The sound sent pangs though him, and he clasped his arms around her again involuntarily. She was still rigid, and he gently rubbed one hand up and down her side, keeping his hand carefully away from her… assets. Remembering his nephews, he murmured, letting all the worry and fear he felt bleed into his cracking voice, for once concealing nothing. “I can’t. She’s more agitated than she has been since the Carrock.”

“She’s worse.” Kíli’s voice was bleak.

Thorin didn't bother to nod. They couldn’t see him, and it would only disturb her. “Yes.” They were silent, and as Bofur transferred the watch to Fíli and Kíli, Thorin drifted off, and wasn’t fully conscious of any of the next four times that a nightmare sent her into silent tears, but each time, he adjusted his arms around her and she gradually quieted. And so, they spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms, and woke the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUUUHN! Mostly kidding, but yeah. Next chapter's from Bella's PoV, and Thorin's. so. busted. *grins*  
> Ta!


	31. Ze'tarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be afraid, Thorin. Be very afraid.

Bella smiled drowsily. She was warm, and could feel the boys’ arms around her. Except… usually she was nestled between them. This time, she was only being held by one of them. Could one of them been called away for some reason? That was possible, she could hear movement around the camp, but it didn't explain why whichever it was smelled different than usual. Fíli smelled like leather and metal, Kíli smelled like leather and yew, so why did whichever one was holding her smell like oak and mahogany? She shifted a fraction, and his arms tightened soothingly; a low voice hummed sleepily, and she froze. _Oak…_

She opened her eyes, having forgotten for a moment where they were, and stared blindly up at “…Thorin?”

His arms moved again, and she held back a shiver as fingers lightly stroked her scars through the fabric. His chest shifted slightly as he raised his head. “Bella?” He sounded half-awake, and his voice was thicker and lower than usual. She suppressed another shiver at the way he said her name, and drew away a hair, cold rushing in to replace everywhere he’d been touching her, which, she blushed to realize, was just about everywhere.

His arms were still around her, and she didn't push him away, knowing that she would have no idea where he was if she did. _And his hands feel so good on my waist— No! It’s just so I can find him, that’s all!_ She swallowed, and forced her voice to stay steady. “Why am I s—  resting with you?” His hands flexed, and lifted off of her, _no, don’t— what am I thinking, yes, do_ , and she heard him sit up while most of the sound in the camp ceased.

As she followed his action, he cleared his throat, and she shifted slightly to look at where the sound had emanated. He cleared his throat again, and she heard his shirt rustle as he moved his arm, but couldn’t tell what he was doing. “… You had a nightmare.”

Her breath stuttered as she understood the full meaning. _Yavanna, did you have to tell me who was helping like this?!_ “And how long have you been keeping track of my nightmares?” She already knew, or at least could guess, but she needed to hear it from him.

He exhaled shakily, and when he spoke, he was more hesitant, _nervous?_ , than she’d ever heard him. “Since the night Kíli made you cry.”

It didn't surprise her. “And who else knew?” He inhaled sharply, and, feeling angry tears start to gather, she hissed, “Fíli and Kíli had to’ve, at the minimum. Did anyone else?”

“No one knew, not until the Carrock.” She flinched, and he paused. _Can he see me?_ After a moment, he continued, more penitently, “That night, everyone saw. Including Gandalf.” She let out a tremulous breath, and turned away. She couldn’t see him, but even so, she didn't want any possibility that she was looking at him. _Besides, he probably can see me_.

After taking a few seconds to control her breathing, she put all the ice she could into her voice. “And why didn’t anyone tell me?” _Why didn’t you?_

There was a long pause before he responded. “I don’t know. But I think some of them may have assumed you already knew.” He didn't elaborate further, and he didn't apologize.

Feeling as though she would cry, or hit something, or storm blindly out of the camp if she had to talk to him a moment longer, she snapped, “Dwalin!” There was a brief quiet, then she heard one of the Company moving towards her. She extended her hand toward the sound, and after he reached her, the Dwarf, she assumed it was Dwalin, pulled her to her feet. “Please take me to Bifur.” Dwalin didn't move for a moment, then led her slowly through the camp, their path winding around the various objects that came with campsites, until Dwalin stopped and said something in Khuzdûl, _probably explaining the situation_.

A hand brushed hers, and she took it, letting go of Dwalin’s, and sat next to the old warrior as Dwalin moved away and the sounds of the camp gradually resumed. Bifur’s voice rumbled something, she didn’t know exactly what, but it was clearly a question. _I think I can guess what he’s asking_. “They all knew, and chose not to tell me. You knew, but even if you tried to tell me, they might not have translated it. I don’t know if you did, but right now I feel a lot more kindly toward you than them.” She sniffled, and roughly wiped her cheeks. _I hate crying_. Keeping hold of his hand, she pulled her legs up and wrapped her free arm around them, resting her forehead against her forearm as she tried to calm down. Someone, she didn't know who, came to stand in front of her at one point, and she ignored the presence until he sighed, _definitely not Kítos or Balin_ , and set something down near her. After he moved away, she reached carefully out and felt the edge of a bowl. For an instant, she considered throwing it, or dumping it out, or even just giving it to Bifur. Then her stomach growled and reminded her that she did, in fact, need to eat. 

A few minutes after she finished eating, the Company moved out, and she walked behind Bifur, still holding his hand. She still couldn’t see anything, but Bifur would squeeze her hand, or lift it a little, or tug it sideways, and so guided her past most of the obstacles. His wordless presence was unexpectedly comforting, and whenever the ever-present rustles and growls of invisible predators grew too close for her tastes, she focused on his hand, memorized the callouses on his fingers, and ignored the sounds as best she could.

She spoke suddenly, surprising herself a little, “What’s the word for yes in Khuzdûl?” 

Bifur hesitated for a moment. “Kun.”

“And no?”

“Lu’.” He hummed questioningly.

Bella smiled. “I may not know enough to really talk to you, but ‘yes’ and ‘no’ have carried many a conversation, believe me.” He hummed again, and her smile weakened. “I’ve been traveling with you for months and I know almost nothing about you. I’d like to learn more, if you don’t mind. Do you?”

She held her breath as she waited. “Lu’.” She grinned. The two of them talked, she asking questions and he answering them, for several hours, even past when the forest lightened enough that she was able to let go of his hand and walk on her own. She learned that he had been wounded at Moria, that he’d been living with his cousins since then, and that he had a younger sister who lived with them as well. His sister was a miner, but Bifur couldn’t handle being surrounded by people for so long, and had learned to carve toys instead. None of them were from Erebor originally, but Bifur had felt that Thorin had a right to reclaim his kingdom, and as he was the head of the family, Bofur and Bombur had joined him, despite the fact that Bombur was married with four children. Those children, in fact, were the reason Bifur had begun making toys, and had advertised his handiwork enthusiastically among their friends. They would never be wealthy, but between Bifur’s toys, his sister and Bofur’s mining, and Bombur’s cooking, they were comfortable enough. There had been a lull in the conversation during the midday meal break, although Bella had done her best. Now that she could see, it was hard for her to ignore the Durins, and even harder for her to look at them.

Once they began walking again, Bella remained silent for a few minutes, working up her courage. “Bifur… Did you ever try to tell me?” 

She saw his head drop as he sighed. “Lu’.”

“Why n—” Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to slow down. “Did you assume I knew?”

“Lu’.”

“Then w—” She held back a growl, and Bifur said something in Khuzdûl. He stopped for a moment and gestured for her to walk in front of him, behind Bofur.

Bofur gave her a small smile over his shoulder. “I think he wants me to translate.” Bifur spoke, a rapid question, and Bofur shot a quick glance at her. “He wants to know what you think Thorin’s been doing to get rid of your nightmares.”

Bella frowned. “I… last night, he—”

Bofur shook his head frantically. “Nonono, last night was not normal. We never would have let him do something like that.” Bifur spoke again. “You did?” Bofur glanced at her. “Bifur says he stayed awake all night after the Carrock, watching Thorin to make sure he wasn’t doing anything inappropriate, and…” Bofur tossed a question over his shoulder to Bifur, who answered quickly.

“What?”

“Sorry, I was just asking if he’d told you yet, and he hadn’t.” 

“Hadn’t told me what?” Bella tried not to be angry with them, but she felt as though they were talking over her, treating her like a child, and her frustration bled into her tone.

To his credit, Bofur sounded apologetic. “Hadn’t told you how we found out. After the Carrock, Dori and Ori tried to tell him to sleep somewhere else, but you had a nightmare while they were arguing, and then they tried to help—”

“Did I hurt them?!?” Fear almost choked her as she remembered how she’d hurt Primula and Mirabella when they tried to hold her down.

“No, no, they were worried about you, but they let go as soon as you started fighting. But Thorin leaned over and touched your face, just put his hand on your jaw, and you stopped, and within a few minutes you were peaceful again.” Speechless, Bella could only listen as Bofur continued. “Bifur says that you had a few more nightmares that night, and most of the time all Thorin did was touch your hair for a few seconds, but you had one, worse than the others, when he had to put his hand on your forehead.” Bifur interjected something, and Bofur frowned. “He says you were saying something during that one, he could barely hear you, but it sounded like ‘precious’.” 

Bella flinched. That dream had been of Gollum chasing her through the caves, and had returned last night, but had ended much more quickly. In a way, Gollum was the least threatening… whatever-he-was she’d ever faced, but he tried to kill her. He would have killed her, if she hadn't gotten away. Azog, Iestyn, Urbikh, they’d hurt her, tortured her, but they’d wanted her alive. She’d never come that close to dying before, except for the Trolls, and they were so stupid they didn't really count. Now that she had… she’d rather take pain.

“All of us have kept an eye on you since then, while we’re on watch, and none of us have seen him do anything more than he did that night. Although, since the boys adopted you, he hasn’t needed to help nearly as often.” Glancing at her, Bofur hesitated before adding, “The first night at Beorn’s, we talked him out of sleeping by you, we convinced him that your brothers could handle it, but—”

“But then I woke up convinced I was still in th— the Orc-Camps.” She had nearly said it in Black Speech, as a matter of habit, but the forest was dark enough without adding that to it.

“Aye. After you went outside, he was furious, but more with himself than with us, I think. He was convinced that if he’d stayed by you, you never would have had a dream that bad, and I think he was right. But he seemed more worried about you than anything else.” After a moment, he stopped, as did Bella, said something in Khuzdûl, and Bifur moved ahead of them. Bofur kept her from going past him, and didn't keep moving until Bifur was a little ways ahead of them, and then he spoke quietly. Bella realized that he was trying to give her as much privacy as was possible. “I know you’re angry at him, and at all of us, and with good reason, but… For whatever it’s worth, I think he really loves you.” Bella stopped dead, gaping, and had to catch up to him. “That doesn’t excuse him, and I’m not saying that you should forgive him just like that, but if you’d had a choice, would you have told any of us?”

She didn't have to think about it. “No. The only people who’ve found out are the ones who helped me recover. I wouldn't have told anyone if I could help it.” Bofur didn't say anything more. He didn't have to. _Maybe Thorin was trying to respect my privacy? He still should have told me, but I wouldn't have been any less embarrassed if he’d told me after the first night. The others should have told me, but maybe they didn’t know how? Dwarves don’t seem to be very touchy-feely, especially not these ones. But that would go double for Thorin, wouldn't it. I think the most personal conversation I’ve ever had with him was in Rivendell, or possibly Beorn’s, and I did all the talking both times.  I’m still mad at him, and the boys. They should have told me. They should have._ _He_ _should have._

 _Why does that hurt more? Fíli and Kíli are my brothers, he’s just my leader. Why should his opinion matter so much? … Because I respect him. Because he’s intelligent, and kind, and does things like ask if I would rather someone else go to Beorn’s, and look like he didn’t want me to come into this Queen-cursed forest. Because I don’t know him a quarter as well as I want to, and I want him to be better than that. I want… I want him to be the kind of man I could fall in love with_.

Bella held a hand over her mouth to muffle a quiet gasp, heart pounding. _I joke with him. I intentionally try to make him smile, and I’ve almost never felt as pleased as when I made him laugh. I trust him completely, except with directions. Whenever something funny happens, I look at him without even thinking. I like his smiles better than Fíli or Kíli’s. I…_ She flushed. _I like it when he touches me. It’s so rare that he does that it’s like I can’t focus on anything else, and even this morning, even when I was angry with him, part of me wanted him to keep his hands on my waist._

_…I’m already falling in love with him. I’ve been falling in love with him for weeks, and I never even noticed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how was that? As good as all of you were hoping for? *crosses fingers* I'm not convinced this turned out as well as I wanted it to, but OH WELL! It's done, it's out, I refuse to stress about it.   
> So, actual notes: Kíli smells like yew because that's what his bow is made out of; I have no idea what mahogany smells like, but some people on the internet said it smells like rich leather; and the real fallout won't be until Wednesday. Sorry!
> 
>  
> 
> (P.S., still looking for betas!)


	32. Nu'tarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bella proves that she's a much better person than these idiots deserve.

That night, she ate with Bifur while Bofur and Bombur chatted uneasily. Once she heard Bifur set down his bowl, she tapped his arm. They’d agreed on this earlier, although he hadn’t been especially happy about it. He gently took her hand, but didn't move until she squeezed his. He stood, and the few conversations that had been taking place around them stopped. Just as Dwalin had done that same morning, Bifur led her through the camp, taking care to make sure that she didn't trip over anything, and positioned her carefully before humming sadly and moving away. She sat, knowing that he had taken her to the Durins, but not sure exactly where each of them were. The sounds of the rest of the camp gradually resumed, but the Dwarves around her stayed silent. Kítos was silent, too, or at least her voice was obscured by the rest of the Company’s. She was probably watching to see if Bella was going to confront the Durins like she had her, earlier that day. She would be right.

“You should've told me. You lied to me, if only by omission, and you treated me like a child, or worse, an invalid. That was half the reason I left the Shire. I have no intention of being treated like that by anyone, anymore.” She’d almost been able to hear them cringe as she’d spoken, and she let the silence drag on for a few moments, _let them sweat_. “Which is why all three of you are going to swear on Erebor, on your swords, on whatever you value most in the world that you will  never do that to me again.”

From a foot or two in front of her, Fíli, unsurprisingly, spoke first. “I swear on the bead I gave you, I will never lie to you again, and if you want to give your bead back, I will walk away and never disturb you again for as long as I live.”

Bella smiled at him, using his voice as a guide, and tried to put all the warmth she could into the expression. “I accept your oath, Fíli son of Dís, but I don’t want you to stop being my brother, you idiot.”

Kíli chuckled before he spoke. “I swear on my bow, since Fíli took what I was going to say, I will never treat you like an invalid again, but I can’t promise not to treat you like a child. It’s a big brother’s prerogative!” He sounded nervous despite his humor.

Bella held her hand out to her right, toward his voice, and smiled when he gingerly took it. “I accept your oath, Kíli son of Dís, and as long as you remember there’s a difference between treating me like a child and treating me like an idiot, I’ll never have a problem with my Undad.” She swung their hands back and forth a little, and smiled more broadly at his laugh. Her smile faded as she waited for Thorin to speak, guessing he was sitting on her left, and her heart was racing before his first word.

His voice was soft, regret in every word, but also resolve. His words were formal, but she didn't doubt his sincerity. “I swear to you by Mahal and Yavanna, I will treat you with the respect you deserve, and with the courtesy I should have shown you since the first day I laid eyes on you. You have my deepest apologies for the abysmal manners I have displayed, and if you wish to take my beard, my sword will be at your disposal.” Kíli gasped, as did a few others behind her, but Fíli grunted, sounding satisfied, and at least one other did the same. _Probably Dwalin. Maybe Bifur. Balin?_

She looked at him, or hoped she did, considering his words. Slowly, she nodded. “I accept your oath, and your apology, but I’ll have to think about the last. You’ll have my decision by midday tomorrow.” He let loose a slow, quiet breath, and she could picture his expression: relieved, anxious, forlorn, all flickering across stoic majesty almost too quickly to see. _I just wish I could see if that’s actually what he’s feeling_. When none of them said anything further, she smirked. “Well? I already forgave you; what do you expect, a temper tantrum?”

“But,” Fíli began hesitantly, “You said you left the Shire because they treated you like we have. You don’t want to leave us?” He had the same wary hope in his voice as Thorin had when she told him about her parents, at Beorn’s.

She rolled her eyes. “I left the Shire because they were still treating me like an invalid after six years of proving I wasn’t. You all messing up once does not compare.” Her voice and eyes dropped. “After what you saw at the Carrock, and the dreams I’ve had, I’d be surprised if you didn’t walk on eggshells around me.” She shook her head and brightened her tone. “That doesn’t mean I won’t be mad if you keep doing it, though.” She heard a rustle, in front of her and a little to the left, as though one of them, _either Fíli or Thorin_ , had moved suddenly. She didn't have time to wonder what he’d been doing before Kíli took her hand and gently tugged her toward him, meeting her halfway in a loose hug.

“You are far better than any of us.” Blushing, she shook her head slightly, and wasn’t surprised when Fíli put a hand on her shoulder.

“He’s serious, nan’ith. He’s also right.” Fíli leaned his forehead against hers for a long moment, then kissed her hair softly and retreated. Kíli didn't let go of her for a few seconds, and she realized that with her head on his shoulder as it was, she was probably looking at Thorin, or at least in his direction. Involuntarily, her eyes flicked around the pitch-black space, looking for him. After a heartbeat, she forced her eyes closed, reminding herself it was useless. She opened them again when Kíli began to draw away. 

He poked her forehead before letting her go completely, a smile in his voice. “Don’t frown too much, nan’ith, your face’ll stick like that.”

With a teasing smile, she replied, “Well, I am a Durin now; it’ll only help me blend in.”

There was silence for just an instant longer than felt natural, then Fíli asked, “Do we all sc—… frown all the time?”

“Well, not all the time.” She smiled softly, thinking of Thorin’s grin that last night at Beorn’s. Feeling her face heat, she looked between where she thought she remembered the boys were. “You have decent smiles, I suppose.” A faint noise came from Thorin’s position, and her eyes fixed on where it had originated. Twin dots of light at the edge of her vision drew her eyes up, and she saw green eyes gleaming down at her. They faded as she watched, and reappeared lower down, but a set of red eyes, either much bigger or much closer, appeared where she thought would be over Fíli’s shoulder, and she leaned back before she could think about it.

“What’s wrong?” A shiver ran through her at Thorin’s voice; he sounded dangerous, _why is that attractive?_

She swallowed before pointing at the eyes, and kept her tone light. “Those took me off guard, that’s all.” It sounded as though Fíli had fallen over, and Kíli was moving, _getting his bow out?_ , but after drawing his sword, Thorin was motionless, and therefore silent. Without quite meaning to, she edged a little closer to him.

“I don’t see anything.” Her face heated slightly; Thorin didn’t sound doubtful, only wary. 

She pointed at the yellow eyes that had just materialized some fifteen or twenty feet off the ground. “I think they’re some sort of animal. They don’t do anything, just show up and be creepy. Can you not see them?” Fíli swore in Khuzdûl, joined quickly by their brother; Thorin growled, low in his throat, and chills sped down her spine. When she heard Fíli get to his feet, she quietly called to him, “Don’t do anything rash; if they didn't do anything last night, they’re probably harmless.”

“Last night?” 

She swung her head toward Kíli’s voice. “You didn't see them?” He didn't respond, and she shrugged. “The red ones are a bit eerie, but—” A glimmer past him caught her eye, and she felt the blood drain from her head. Two huge eyes, pale and bulbous and bringing a hiss of ‘is it tasty’ to her mind so clearly that she could almost hear it. Feeling faint, she waved weakly toward them and inched in the opposite direction. “But those are the ones I hate.” Her voice was a croak, and she shut her eyes against the memories of pale, cold hands against her skin. 

Warmth hovered over her arm, then withdrew a fraction. Thorin inquired tentatively, “May I?” She hesitated, thinking of how hurt she’d been that morning. _He offered his beard. And after that dream at Beorn’s, he looked so afraid, so worried_. She scooted toward him mutely, and nearly collapsed against him. She heard him set something down, _Orcrist?_ , and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Another set of pale eyes appeared, much closer _or maybe bigger_ than the first, and she realized she was shaking. Thorin pulled her a little closer, shifting so that she was flush against his chest, and she grabbed his arms. He loosened his hold, and she tightened her grip, keeping his arms where they were. She couldn’t seem to let go of him, but he didn’t say a word. In fact, he didn't seem to think anything was unusual about how she was acting. _Is this what I do when I’m asleep? Is that why he was holding me this morning?_  

Something rustled behind them and she flinched; Thorin tugged one arm out of her grasp, hooked it under her knees, lifted her, turned her, and set her down so that she was sitting sideways on his lap, all before she could react. Letting go of his arm, she wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes. His arms enfolded her again, and he leaned his head on hers. Listening to his heart under her cheek, she tried to focus on the rhythm of his breathing and get her own under control. 

Eventually, her tremors eased off and she was able to copy his slow, even breaths. Dimly, she knew that she should really get off of his lap, but she felt safer than she had all day, and drowsy besides. Feeling his voice rumble through his chest sent another shiver through her as he murmured into her hair, “Do you want to go to your brothers?” She shook her head lethargically, and repositioned her arms a little higher around him. Muted, animalistic sounds were all around them, just within earshot. _They won’t do anything. They didn't last night._ Still, the thought of leaving Thorin’s side terrified her, and she was too tired to lie to herself. _I don’t want to be held by anyone but him. Even if he were the weakest fighter in the Company, I would still feel this safe._

Fingers brushed her shoulder, and for an instant she was in the caves again. She startled badly, half wanting to get as far away as she could, half wanting to grab Orcrist and attack. What she actually did was whirl around as much as she could, Thorin’s arms immediately tightening around her, and stare into the darkness, heart racing, barely breathing.

“Bella?” _It was just Fíli_. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against Thorin’s arm, relief spreading through her and slowing her heart. “I’m sorry.” 

He sounded so despondent that she couldn’t help but shakily respond. “No, it— it wasn’t your fault—” Exhaustion was numbing her again, and she couldn’t think of why he shouldn't blame himself, only that he shouldn’t.

“Yes, it was.” If it was at all possible, he sounded even more doleful than before. “I was just… I wanted to make sure you were alright. I’m sorry for disturbing you.” He growled something in Khuzdûl, and Thorin replied, snapping something with hurt lacing the words. 

As Fíli moved away, Bella laid her head against Thorin again, and asked languidly, “Wha’ was’e sayin’?”

Thorin didn't respond. Gently, he lowered them both slowly down until he was lying flat on the ground, her half on top of him and still wrapped in his arms. When he finally did speak, she was nearly asleep. “He was… reminding me that you have two overprotective brothers now.”

“Th’n why’d y’s’nd s’d?” His head lifted sharply, and she grumbled softly when the movement jostled her. He relaxed again, but she thought, distantly, that he was still looking at her.

She had to focus on his quiet voice, and it took her several seconds to process the words. “He doesn’t think I’m good for you. Or good enough for you.”

Once she understood, she huffed faintly with a smile. “S’lly. ‘M j’st ’n orph’n sl’ve b’rgl’r. C’rse y’re g’d ‘nuf.”

He chuckled, and her smile widened a little at how it bounced her. “I think this is a conversation best had when you’re fully conscious.”

“‘M ‘w’ke. ‘M f’ll’ ‘w’ke.” He just chuckled again and rubbed her back. _Oh, that feels good_.

“Sleep, bakaniê. Sleep.” She really wanted to argue with him, but was dreaming before she could think of anything to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, if she were a Dwarrowdam, she'd probably make them suffer for a few weeks, at least, before telling them they're forgiven. Fortunately, Hobbits only hold grudges when they have good reason, and eight years of getting grudge-worthy treatment from the entire Shire kind of puts things in perspective. Also, 'bakaniê' means 'my ray of light', which I'm using artistic license to say that it specifically means dawn-light, and colloquially it's the one ray that somehow manages to get past all your curtains and such, hits you right in the eye, and wake you up.  
> Next time: you all get to suffer my attempts at writing mythology! ...We'll see how it goes. À bientôt!


	33. Gemtarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You will suffer through my attempts at writing mythology. Or not. Up to you.

Two boys sat in a camp. Bella walked around them, trying to figure out why they looked so familiar; one had finer clothes and delicate bones for a Dwarf, the other had coarser features and a hostile expression. They weren’t talking. They were only sitting next to each other, watching two piles of blankets. Curiously, Bella wandered over for a closer look. The coarse Dwarf’s charge was an older Dwarf, even more familiar than the boys, who looked like he may have been his brother. The fine Dwarf was watching what turned out to be four Dwarves, two of them piled together; Bella recognized the same boy and girl that she’d seen the fine Dwarf playing with in a dream at Beorn’s, now a little older, as was he. She stopped halfway to reaching the other two Dwarves, and looked back at the fine Dwarf. _I’ve seen him before, not just in that dream. He… He made me think of Kíli_. 

The shadows from the fire changed his face, made his eyes look bigger, his skin paler against his hair. A hissing growl echoed around the open campsite, wind howling underneath it. Bella tried to move, to run, but she was caught by something, held tightly as her pulse raced. 

Whatever was imprisoning her shook her gently, but she kept struggling. “…lla, Bella, you’re dreaming.”

“Thorin?” He let loose a shuddering sigh, his arms loosening, and she grabbed his sleeve. She kept her voice low, knowing how sound carries in the cave, as she whispered harshly, desperately, “He’s coming, can’t see, can’t hear, but he’ll sneak up, choke you, hit you, eat us whole— have to stall, have to play, keep Precious here, keep Gollum in sight, can’t let him behind us, he grabs and chokes and—”

“Who are you talking about?” Thorin’s voice was almost broken, _why is he sad, he should be scared_ , and he curled one arm around her to lay his hand on the back of her head. “Bella, there’s no one called Precious or Gollum here. It’s just the Company.” _The— No, the Company can’t be here, they were taken—… by the Goblins. We caught up outside, and then Azog, and then Beorn’s_ —

“We’re in Mirkwood.” He sighed again, relieved, and leaned his forehead against hers. She returned the pressure and gripped his jacket. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No. Never apologize for facing your demons.” The two of them were silent for a few minutes as her heart slowed. “Who are Precious and Gollum?”

She screwed her eyes shut, knowing it wouldn’t help. “Not, not here. I can’t— it’s too dark, and—” He rubbed her back again and hummed briefly, the sound oddly soothing.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Not if you don’t want to.” After another moment, he sat up, holding her with one arm so that she didn't budge against his chest. He said something in Khuzdûl, and Bella heard something being set down near them, then someone’s footsteps moving away. “Breakfast is ready.” She could hear a question underneath his words, and shifted in response so that she was leaning against his chest, and so that both of their arms were free.

She flushed. “I’m sorry. I was angry at you just last night for treating me like a child, and now I’m acting like one, and treating you like a teddy bear or something.”

“I don’t think Uncle minds. Oh look, he’s blushing!” Kíli’s voice nearly made her drop the bowl Thorin handed her. _I forgot he was here; I hate being blind. Wait, blushing?_

There was a sharp smack from the same direction as Kíli’s voice, and Fíli hissed something in Khuzdûl. Kíli retorted flippantly, and the two of them argued for a minute while Bella and Thorin ate. Thorin didn't respond to the boys, although she knew he understood them, and guessed they were talking about him, _if not both of us_ , from the way he would freeze for an instant then keep eating, and how he got progressively stiffer as the conversation continued. She bit her lip, holding back laughter at the hunch that he’d be bright red if she could see him. Kíli exclaimed something that made the rest of the Company, _except Fíli, I think_ , burst into laughter, and Thorin choke on his food. Once he stopped coughing, Thorin hoarsely protested whatever it was Kíli had said, and the whole situation was so ridiculous that Bella started laughing, which made Thorin protest more, which made the entire Company laugh again, which made her laugh harder. Her stomach growled, and she reluctantly kept eating, with the occasional snicker whenever Fíli smacked his brother or Thorin spluttered. It was impossible to tell what time it was, and she could still see eyes in the darkness, but even so, she felt as warm and as safe as though they were sitting in her garden at Bag-End.

Her breath stuttered. Images of Thorin, sitting with her in the garden, in the study, holding her hand, even just smiling at her filled her mind. _No, Bag-End isn't mine anymore. We couldn’t go there_. Against her will, the backgrounds changed from her familiar smial to stone walls, the rooms she’d been dreaming of, and she realized that it didn't matter. Even picturing the two of them in Rivendell or Bree didn't change the warmth she felt at the thought of Thorin being with her. _By the Queen, I’m in trouble_.

“If you’re all quite finished,” Balin’s voice broke through the laughter easily. “It’s past time to get moving.” There were a few groans, but they were better-natured than she would have expected; Thorin just sounded relieved. He stood and helped her to her feet, and she held his hand tightly when he slackened his grip. After a moment, he squeezed her hand and she felt him relax a fraction.

“Nori.” Thorin waited until footsteps stopped near them before continuing. “You have sharper eyes than I; go to the front of the line.” Nori chuckled, but said something affirmative in Khuzdûl and walked away. Thorin followed, guiding Bella behind him, and from the sound of it, she guessed that he was directly behind Nori, and she could hear Fíli and Kíli talking behind her.

The sounds of the forest were more pronounced as they moved, and Bella began flinching forward, closer to Thorin, whenever the noises were too close. After a few minutes, Thorin hesitantly asked, “A week or so ago, you mentioned Kaminzabdûna, Yavanna. You… You said that she made Hobbits.”

Her fingers jerked reflexively, and his thumb started running lightly over her knuckles. _Queen, I did, didn’t I?_ She took a deep breath. _No point lying now_. “Yes, I did.” Pausing as Thorin led her around some obstacle, she gathered her thoughts. “That’s… not commonly known outside the Shire. It’s not known at all, actually.”

His thumb slowed. “A secret?”

She nodded gravely, knowing that Fíli and Kíli were definitely listening, and they, at least, would see the gesture. “I shouldn’t have said it in the first place. If I’d been awake, I wouldn’t have.” His fingers twitched, and she swung their hands a little. “If I regretted telling you, I would have just lied about it. Dwarves have secrets, I know. You could learn to keep them a little better, but I know you’ll keep this one, now you know you should.”

Fíli spoke up behind her. “We keep secrets better than anyone!”

She scoffed, and sent him a smirk over her shoulder. “Really? Because I've known you have a secret language since the night I met you. Did you ever think Hobbits were anything but little Men until Rivendell?” He was wordless, though she could hear him sputtering. She turned back to ‘face’ Thorin’s back. “Hobbits can hide better than anyone. That includes hiding information.” Smiling faintly, she reached back toward Fíli with her other hand. “But I’ve always hated lying to family.” He took it, and her smile broadened. “You already know the main detail, so I don’t see how there would be any harm in filling you in on the rest.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin’s grip tightened sympathetically. “We know the value of secrets. If you feel that you shouldn’t tell us, or if you would need leave—”

“The only leave I need is my own. If Uncle Isumbras has a problem with that, which I don’t think he will, what can he do? Kick me out of the Shire?”

“Uncle Isumbras?” Fíli sounded puzzled, and Bella realized she’d never told them the names of any of her family.

“He’s Thain right now. He took over after Uncle Isengrim died two years ago, but he’s ninety-four, so I’m not sure how long he’ll last.”

“And the Thain is…?”

She hummed as she thought. “King? Sort of? Or maybe Ambassador? We don’t really have a monarchy, but it is a hereditary position, and carries a lot of authority, so maybe ‘King’ would be the best analogy.”

“And your family is connected to this position?” Thorin sounded strained, and she frowned at him.

“My mother’s family, yes. She was always Grandfather’s favorite, so she might have inherited, if…” Taking a deep breath, Bella shook her head to clear it. “But she didn’t, and she might not have, anyway, after marrying a Baggins.”

“So your mother was the daughter of the King.”

“Our sister’s a double Princess.” Kíli sounded awed, and she wished he was close enough for her to smack.

“I am not!” Thorin squeezed her hand again, and she forced herself to calm down. “We’ve gotten off subject. We were talking about Yavanna. And while I am not a Princess in the Shire, I do have a certain amount of authority, enough to decide if you all should be told.”

“Because you’re a Princess.”

With difficulty, she ignored her brother. “We don’t have written records, but we have stories, passed down from before we came to the Shire.” As she spoke, the tension brought on by the forest eased away, and she let memories of her childhood sweep away the last of her nightmare. “When the world was new, and the Song unfinished, Yavanna saw her husband’s creations.” She squeezed both Thorin and Fíli's hands apologetically. “She feared their disregard for nature, and pleaded with Eru to protect her charges. Eru created Ents for her, great tall beings that would protect their trees with their lives, but Yavanna was still discontented. She looked at the races of the world, at Elves and their detached interest in her plants, at Men and their clumsy blindness, at Dwarves and their stone, and most of all, at Melkor’s monstrosities, and was grieved. None of these would ever love peace, none of them would love her works as she did. 

“And so, out of the soil and the rain and the light, she wove six creatures into being. To these, she gave forgiving hearts, cheerful minds, and peaceful dreams. They didn’t have the strength of Dwarves, or the height of Men, or the longevity of Elves, so she gave them resilience, and clever tongues, and feet that could carry them to safety. She gave them a rapport with nature, and stores of courage. Most secretly of all, she gave them ways of hiding, of going unheard by all, unseen by most. She looked at them and was filled with joy, and went to Eru to plead for her children, for them to receive his blessing as her husband’s had. While she did, her sister grew curious. What was Yavanna hiding? Vána found them, and laughed. These little ones were delightful, and she, the doting Aunt, showed them all her favorite flowers, and taught them to dance. Two of the six were distracted by the blossoms, and so paid no heed to her lessons. Another two sat back and watched and sang, but the last two, these loved the dances she showed them. 

“When Eru gave Yavanna his blessing, and the promise of a great forest waiting for them in the next life, she went to her husband and told him of her actions. He was angry, at first, that she had done this without telling him, but she brought him to her children and he saw her joy. The two that had sung while Vána danced saw them first, and inspected Aulë curiously. They saw his weapons, and his great strength, and were afraid, but Yavanna assured them that he was a protector for them, and they accepted him gladly. The two that had danced came to Yavanna, and accepted Aulë easily, but never stopped moving, and darted, laughing, around the three Valar. The last two were afraid of Aulë, and it saddened Yavanna to see her children so hesitant. When they saw her face, they came forward, and bowed to Aulë, but ran to Yavanna to hide behind her when he moved toward them.

“The three Pairs were each blessed by Yavanna, and she gave them Ralenns to bring them together, and Zhauthiet to bind them. But as she looked at them, she realized they’d changed. The Pair that had hidden behind her still looked the same, but the dancers were taller, slimmer, and the singers, while almost as tall as the dancers, were much broader than they had been. They all talked together as she watched, and she saw that they didn't mind the differences. She smiled, and kissed her husband, and was content.” Bella smiled happily. “I love that story.” _It’s almost enough to make me forget the darkness. Almost_.

“Is there any truth to it?” She let go of Fíli’s hand briefly to hit him.

“It’s all true. There are other stories I’m not sure about, but that one, I am.”

“Stories like what?”

She sighed. “Stories like how the Vána-Favoured Hobbits always cause trouble, and how the Aulë-Chosen are cursed. Although,” She snickered, “Tooks do tend to be Vána-Favoured, so maybe there’s a little truth to that one.” She squinted. _Is it starting to lighten?_

“But what does Vána-Favoured mean?” She’d thought Kíli would ask something like that, but several concurring grumbles came from behind him, and she realized her audience was bigger than she’d thought.

“Being tall, and skinny, and active. Causing trouble wherever you go, and laughing at danger.”

“Would you be Vána-Favoured, then?” As Thorin spoke, she saw, or thought she saw, a flicker of movement, possibly his head turning toward her.

She shook her head. “No, my mother was, but if anything, I’d be Aulë-Chosen. I’ve always liked books more than gardens, and family over neighbors.”

“Was your father Aulë-Chosen?” Fíli’s voice was hesitant.

She smiled. _It’s definitely getting brighter_. “No, he was Queen-Blessed. Short and stout and in his garden whenever he could be. The perfect Hobbit.” A little more sadness crept into her tone than she meant to include, as well as a hint of bitterness. Thorin turned to her, still faint, but visible now. She smiled at him, and he blinked for a second before returning it. He didn't say anything more, and the rest of the Company fell into comfortable silence as the forest lightened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... *fidgets nervously* ...how'd I do? The different subgroups of Hobbits (Harfoots, Stoors, and Fallohides) never really get addressed in canon, but if Hobbits were made by Yavanna, it only makes sense that they would incorporate the differences into their mythology, and so here, they're Queen-Blessed, Aulë-Chosen, and Vána-Favoured, respectively; technically, Harfoots should be Aulë-Chosen, but OH WELL. It's my story and I'll write like I want to.  
> À bientôt!


	34. Ramekhtarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly filler. Hope you like it anyway!

Bella cleared her throat, and saw Thorin turn to look at her over his shoulder inquisitively.  The midday light was still dim, to her eyes, but she knew it wouldn’t get much brighter, and that it wouldn’t be long before it darkened again. _No time like the present_. “You asked, earlier, who Gollum was.” Thorin opened his mouth, and she cut him off quietly. “I want to tell you. All of you. It’s easier in the daylight, such as it is.” He sighed, but only gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze before turning back around. _Where to begin?_ She cleared her throat again, and tried to pitch her voice a hair above her normal volume. “When we were in the Goblin-Caves, when the Orcs rushed us, I didn’t fight them. Orcs love to watch their prey struggle, so if you don’t give them any resistance they lose interest quickly. I stayed low, and they left me behind, with my sword.”

“I saw that. I hoped you would escape.”

She smiled at Nori’s voice, and wished he could see the gratitude on her face. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for not calling out or anything. If you had, the Orcs would have come back for me. I was alone after a minute, and I was going to follow the group and see if I could help when another Orc ambushed me.” Fíli’s hand spasmed in hers, and she turned slightly to flash him an apologetic grimace. “I think we need to start practicing my sword-fighting again once we’re out of these dratted woods. I barely held my own, and it backed me over a cliff. I grabbed it as I fell, but the landing knocked me out. When I woke up… there was something else down there. It killed the Orc, and would have killed me if I hadn’t been hiding. It dragged the Orc away, and…” _I found something_. She frowned. _I forgot about the ring. It was the only reason I survived; how did I forget about it?_ She felt it in her pocket, along with the acorn she’d picked up the last morning at Beorn’s, and realized that she must have transferred it to her trousers at some point, but had no recollection of doing so. 

She shook her head again, and picked up where she left off. “Once it was out of earshot, I got up and found my sword easily, as it was glowing. The area I’d fallen into was all but a pit, and the only exit I could see was the same path the creature had taken. I didn’t see that I had much of a choice, so I followed it. Not long after I saw it, the sword flickered out; the creature had beaten the Orc to death. A noise drew my attention, and I looked to see the thing perched on a rock, looking at me hungrily. It jumped down, and crept toward me on all fours, even though it was built like a Hobbit, and hissed to itself, ‘that’s a meaty mouthful’, and I swung my sword to his neck. He coughed, _gollum, gollum_ , and asked what I was.

“I told him I wanted a way out of the caves, and he changed. He softened, turned playful, and told me he knew the way. The first voice, Gollum, as I began to think of him, berated the second for offering, calling him ‘Precious’. A moment later, Precious decided that we should have a game of riddles, and I agreed. Gollum wondered what he would get if I lost, and Precious proposed that if I did, he would eat me whole.” Thorin’s hand tightened, his skin cooling, and she stroked her thumb across his knuckles, hoping he would be as comforted by the gesture as she had been earlier. “I wasn’t about to let him, but I had to agree. Precious… he reminded me of my little cousins. He was as bloodthirsty as Gollum, or nearly, but I couldn’t be as afraid of him, not when he was acting so childlike.

“Precious asked the first riddle, but Gollum asked the others. I nearly stumped him, but that only made him angrier. After my second riddle, I looked away for a second, and he hid. He could move almost silently, that was how he had snuck up on me earlier, and I backed up to a rock so that he would come up behind me. He was taunting me the entire time, but my plan worked, and Gollum tried to grab me from behind.” She took her hand out of Fíli’s to rub at her neck. “His hands were freezing.” She tried to keep her tone light, but her voice shook, and Thorin growled low in his throat. She shivered at the sound, and he adjusted his hand to hold hers more securely.

“I spun around and pointed my sword at him again, and just managed to answer his riddle. He picked up a rock, and demanded I ask my last question.” She smiled. “Foolish, really. He asked for a question, not a riddle, so I asked him. He insisted on three guesses, and I gave them to him, but both Precious and Gollum answered incorrectly each time. Gollum agreed to take me out, and I could see he was lying, but he got distracted before he could do anything, crying that he’d lost something. He sounded unhinged, and I had started to back away when he turned around and blamed me, calling me a thief, and chased me. I ran, and managed to hide in a small cave off the main path, and he ran past. From all his yelling, I realized he thought I was ahead of him, and was trying to catch me before I reached the exit. I followed him, and he got to the exit just as all of you did.”

Fíli exclaimed behind her, as did most of the Dwarves, and Thorin shot a startled glance at her. She smiled at him. “I saw all of you run past, and Gandalf, but Gollum was in the way; I couldn’t join you. I had the chance to kill him, then, since he hadn’t seen me, but he looked…” She searched for the right word. “Lost, and alone, and sad.” She shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t do it. I jumped over him and ran out the exit before he could catch me. I caught up to all of you a minute later.”

Fíli hugged her while Kíli cheered, and she could hear a few Dwarves talking excitedly behind them, but Thorin still looked worried. _Proud, but worried_. “This morning, you sounded as though you thought I was there with you.”

She frowned, remembering how convinced she’d been. “I did. That doesn’t usually happen; usually if I wake up like that, the first thing that’s different than I remember starts to wake me up.”

“Beorn’s?”

“At Beorn’s I realized something was off almost immediately, I just didn’t understand for a moment. This morning, I remembered that the Company hadn’t been there with me, but I seriously thought you had been. For a few seconds, I was hiding from Gollum with you. I even thought at one point that you didn’t sound scared enough, but even that didn't wake me up.” She shook her head. “That’s never happened before.” They walked in silence for several minutes. She stumbled over an unseen rock and steadied herself on Thorin’s back, letting her hand linger there with an exhausted sigh. “Why does the light have to fade so quickly?”

Fíli took her hand and tugged her toward him. “Here, I can carry you.”

She pulled away from him as Thorin directed her around a hole in the path. “No. Between rationing and marching all day, you need your strength. I’ll live.” Thorin’s hand twitched, but he didn’t look at her. Fíli started to protest, but she shook her head again and he subsided.

Thorin cleared his throat. “It's past midday. Have you decided?”

Bella blinked at him for a few seconds. Her eyes widened as she remembered, _he offered his beard_. She thought for a moment, and smiled, rubbing her thumb along his knuckles again. “Well, if you cut your beard now, it would probably be all lopsided. It would be amusing, but for the sake of your majesty and its dignity, I'll let you keep your hair.”

Fíli squawked, and she leaned back to whack him on the arm. Aside from some grumbling, he didn't speak again for the rest of the day; nor did the rest of the Company. The silence wore away at Bella’s nerves, something about the forest making her think of the Orc-Camps. _It’s ridiculous. They were nothing like this, apart from hearing the wargs at night. There’s nothing to remind me of them_. 

Despite this, as the day progressed, she found it more and more difficult to avoid expecting Azog, or Bolg or Iestyn, to grab her and take her back. By the time they settled down for the night, the feeling of Thorin’s hand in hers was the only thing her imagination couldn’t twist into something darker. When they sat down, Fíli and Kíli pulled her down between them, but within minutes she was shaking, her eyes screwed shut to avoid seeing any of the horrible eyes in the darkness, her hands clenched into fists to keep from clawing at her ears. She knew the voices she heard were only in her mind, only the ghosts of old terrors, but they still made her flinch. Distantly, she knew that she would be mortified at the fact that the entire Company could see how broken she was. At the moment, though, she didn’t care. She was too busy holding back screams.

When Thorin returned with the food, she heard him stop dead, then the bowls clatter to the ground, and then she was in his arms. She didn’t know why she could tell it was him without hearing him, seeing him, even smelling him, but as soon as his fingers so much as brushed her she felt herself begin to calm. Being held by him, one of his hands rubbing her back soothingly, feeling his humming reverberate through his chest, that anchored her more than anything her brothers had tried. Even so, she couldn’t relax, not completely. The noises of the forest, faint as they were, still surrounded her, the voices in her memories still haunted her, and she felt jittery in a way that she hadn’t since her first weeks back in Bag-End. At first, every time Thorin had moved, she’d trembled, but after a few minutes she’d remembered the food and had forced herself not to react as he reached for his bowl. He tried to get her to eat, as well, but she’d refused to even look toward the food, and he’d dropped it. For a minute. As soon as he finished eating, he started prompting her to eat every few minutes until she agreed, more to get him to stop than because of hunger. 

Eating had been strange. Just smelling the food brought her hunger to the surface, but her stomach had twisted. She’d had to eat one spoonful at a time, with small breaks between each to allow her nausea to abate. Still, she’d forced it all down, knowing that refusing the food would starve her, slow down the Company, and keep them in this _Eru-cursed_ forest for even longer. After Thorin had handed her empty bowl back to someone, she’d realized why she was acting the way she was.

“Old habits.” The words had barely been audible, but Thorin had heard her anyway. _Not hard. His chin’s about an inch away_. She had an odd sensation of weightlessness at that thought. Then the feeling got worse as he shifted to bring his face a little closer, his voice rumbling through his chest.

“What do you mean?” _Why’d I have to open my mouth?_

She turned to press her face into his chest, hoping to muffle her response. _Not my fault if he can’t hear me_. “Old habits. I couldn’t get more than a few bites down at a time for months after I got away. Too used to being hungry.” He’d shuddered when she began to speak, _he’s acting very odd_ , but had gone almost motionless when she continued. She frowned. “I haven’t done that in years.”

“Reverting to old habits.” His voice had been low, thoughtful, but there was an edge there that she couldn’t identify. “The forest?”

He hadn’t seemed surprised when she nodded. She spoke slowly, making an effort to speak clearly despite the exhaustion that had crept up on her. “If it keeps doing this t’ me, I’m going to get worse. I’m not going t’ want t’ eat, I’m going to feel useless an’ helpless ’n’ ag’tated, I’ll… I d’n’o what I’ll do.” Her mind was getting foggy, thinking more difficult.

“What can I do to help?”

Nearly asleep, she could only manage three words, gripping his jacket lightly to punctuate it. “This. Do th’s.” She didn’t hear if he responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it says on the tin, mostly just filler. They needed to have these conversations before the story could keep going, and I needed to set up the next few chapters, so... yeah. Longer chapter on Sunday, and Thorin's PoV, to boot!   
> À bientôt!


	35. Gamekhtarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirkwood. Just... Freaking Mirkwood.

Four weeks. Four weeks of endless walking through the aptly-named Mirkwood. Four weeks of hunger and exhaustion. Four weeks of watching Bella suffer. She’d been right when she’d said she would get worse. Every night since then she’d had at least two waking nightmares, some about Gollum, some about the Camps, even a few about the cliff. Each time, she simply incorporated Thorin into her dream, begging him to run, pleading with him to be quiet, warning him about various enemies. A few that she referred to often, Azog, Bolg, Urbikh, had found their way into Thorin’s dreams, and he gladly, gleefully gutted them. The two he hadn’t met looked different every time, but Bella told him enough, in these fits, about what they did to her that he was always able to recognize them. There was another, Iestyn, but she never did more than name him before going back to begging Thorin not to make a sound. At first, merely bringing up the Company to her helped snap her out of it, but as the days went on, it grew less and less effective, until all he could do was hold her and listen to her delirious, desperate ravings. Sometimes she remembered he hadn’t been there and woke within a few minutes, sometimes she was still babbling as they began walking. 

The boys stopped trying to help after the third time she fought them, and they, with the rest of the Company, listened as helplessly as Thorin. If any of the Dwarrow had still had reservations about her, these weeks surely won them over. Her terror during her dreams was almost tangible, and piece by fragmented piece, she detailed how she’d received each of her scars. A few of the tales had actually made the younger members of the Company physically sick, and Thorin’d had to bite back his rage more than once. One such tale had been of her final escape. Another slave had propositioned her, and taken her to an empty building on the edge of the Camp. She hadn’t protested until he tried to kiss her, and then had fought him so fiercely that he’d thrown her through a window. She’d run, despite her injuries, knowing that he wouldn’t alert anyone for a while, too afraid of Azog’s wrath to anger him until there was no other choice. That dream didn’t haunt her like the others. She almost sounded proud. That didn’t keep Thorin from adding that faceless figure to his dreams, and gutting him as gladly as any of the others. 

The path devolved as they went on, growing more uneven and causing Bella to stumble more often than not. She never complained. When she was aware of where and when she was, she always refused to be carried or coddled, and usually did when she thought she was in the Camps or the caves. Sometimes, rarely, she would let Thorin carry her when she was reliving the cliffs.

After she woke from her deliriums, she was silent. Most of the time, that was the only way the rest of the Company could tell. Thorin knew better. Thorin was the only one she let touch her, and so was the only one that felt the difference; when she was aware of where they were, she held his hand gingerly, as though afraid he would leave her. When she was dreaming, without fail, her grip was like iron. Sometimes she dreamed for the entire day, still following Thorin’s lead on the path, but otherwise still convinced they were somewhere else. From what she’d said in some of her dreams, Thorin guessed that there had been a time when making any sound brought pain. With the visible effort it took her to eat, he guessed that there had also been a time when food was even scarcer than it was now.

Most days she woke up within the first hour or so, such as the day they crossed the river. While the Company had been debating swimming across, she’d gone to the edge of the water, lightly pulling Thorin with her, and spotted a boat on the other side. Thorin hadn’t been able to see it at all, but once Fíli and Kíli noticed she was staring at something, they followed her gaze and pointed it out to the rest of the Company. Thorin might have thought that it was a coincidence, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d relaxed and given silent instructions for him to relay, for her brother to throw the hook a little further, or a little to the right, as Kíli tried to pull the boat to them.

Thorin and Bella had crossed first, with Kíli and Dwalin, and the others followed quickly, Balin and Bombur last. Kíli had nocked an arrow as soon as they landed, in case of any threat, and as the last two debarked, a huge dark buck ran toward them, and leaped over the river. Kíli fired at it, and they heard it fall out of sight. Before they could send anyone to retrieve it, Bella cried out, a wordless wail, and they realized Bombur had fallen into the water. While the others fished him out, Fíli and Kíli stood sentinel and Thorin stood with Bella. She’d grabbed his arm when she cried out, and he’d been prepared to comfort her, to carry her, but she didn’t shake or faint. She stood, watching the group, statue-still, and almost didn’t seem to breathe until Bombur was lying on the shore, a taunting smile on his face.

The boat was lost, and Bombur would have to be carried. A hind, with a few fawns, appeared after a few minutes, and Kíli fired desperately at them, but the deer fled. Their provisions were running low, low enough that carrying Bombur put no more strain on them than had been needed to shoulder their packs when they first entered the forest. But then they had been well fed, and equally well rested. Now there were times when the Dwarrow carrying Bombur, worn out from lack of food, nearly dropped him, and the Company had to take short rests before they could keep going. Bella was always agitated when they stopped. At night it wasn’t noticeable, and she fell asleep quickly, but during the day she never relaxed until they were moving again. 

Bombur had slept for a week and a half, smiling all the while, then woke without a single memory since the night they had spent in Bag-End. The Company rallied at first, especially Bifur and Bofur, but Bombur’s constant complaining and stories of all the food he’d dreamed of wore on everyone’s nerves. Everyone except Bella. She’d barely seemed to hear the cook, and, as she was the only one unaffected by his awakening, somehow became the cheeriest member of the Company, by simple virtue of being the only one not grousing at everyone else. She was still silent, still stoic, but when she was awake, she’d been the one to prod the others into moving, the one to set the surprisingly fast pace, and the one to yank Thorin back to the present whenever he, with all the rest, grumbled at their circumstances. At times, he’d felt almost irrationally angry with her for being so patient; at others, he was grateful beyond reason to Mahal for sending him such a queenly One. During those, more sane times, Thorin would apologize to her for treating her as he did, for pulling her into the forest in the first place, for dragging her onto the quest before that. She would look at him, the ghost of a smile in her hollow eyes, would hold his hand between hers, and press it to her forehead before wrapping her arms around him.

A few days, Thorin thought it was a week or so, after Bombur awoke, Balin caught sight of lights in the distance. They crept forward, just far enough to see that it was a Elven feast, and would have rushed forward if Bella hadn’t planted herself in front of them with a dangerous look in her eyes. Bombur tried to get past her, as did Gloin, but she lashed out and staved them off with a precision she hadn’t shown since entering the forest. Thorin could tell, watching her face, that the lights of the feast illuminated the Dwarrow enough to put her on level ground, and realized after several long seconds that she was right.

He ordered the Company to stay quiet, reminding them that making _unnecessary_ enemies of the weed-eaters would do them no good, and stepped forward meaning to plead their case. Bella’s hand rested lightly on his chest, but it was enough to stop him. She met his eyes, shook her head, and took a single, deliberate step backward. He grabbed her arm and drew her to him, ready to plead with her, command her, beg her, whatever it took to keep her safe, but she pulled his head gently down to press her forehead to his, and the words died in his throat. She was awake, he could see that she was, and she knew the dangers better than any of them. She was also the smallest, least threatening member of the Company. If any of them could curry the leaf-eaters’ favor, it was his Hobbit, his One, his Queen.

He regretted it. As soon as she stepped into the clearing, the lights disappeared, and the Company had to find each other by touch. For long minutes, they counted and recounted and came up with thirteen each time, and Thorin felt as though he were being gutted. Finally, Dori tripped over her and Thorin rushed to his voice. She was lying on the ground, fast asleep, and as Thorin began to make out details in the dim light, he saw that she wore a smile, much like Bombur’s had been, of utter contentment. He wished more than anything that he could let her sleep like that for longer, could keep her smiling like that forever. But the Mirkwood was no place to be defenseless, and remorsefully, Thorin shook her awake. He’d thought she would scream or rave as she usually did, but she woke peacefully, if grudgingly. After she finished blinking the sleep away, she scowled, and the expression was so alive that Thorin nearly laughed.

Thorin set Dori on watch, and the Company tried to sleep. In vain, as it turned out. Before any of them had the chance to get further than a doze, Dori spotted the lights again. This time, when Bella stepped forward, Thorin was the one to stop her. She glowered at him, but he wrapped his arms tightly around her, and murmured into her hair, “I thought I lost you once tonight. Losing you again would break me. Please, let me be the one to protect you now.” 

His heart skipped a beat when she returned the embrace and quietly responded; she hadn’t spoken voluntarily in weeks. “You always protect me. Why shouldn’t I get to save you?”

He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to her forehead, then leaned his head against the same spot, smiling at her. “You saved me from the Trolls, and you’ve helped me more than you know. Now, will you save me from heartbreak?” She huffed, but drew away after a few moments and backed toward the Company. He met Fíli’s eyes and held them until his nephew nodded; he would protect her with his life. Thorin turned, took a breath, and stepped into the clearing.

When Thorin woke, undoubtably from the same enchanted sleep that had afflicted Bombur and Bella, he was surrounded by Elves, and guessed that he was in their palace. The weed-eaters tried to question him, but he gave them no answer until they took him to Thranduil. Thorin gave him as black a look as he could manage. The _vile, loathsome wretch of a_ King looked exactly as he had all those years ago, when he left Thorin’s people to suffer, left Erebor to fall to Smaug. Rage roiled in Thorin’s gut, but Bella’s face flashed in his mind. She wouldn’t show any sign if she were in his place; she had faced Gandalf calmly for weeks, despite blaming him for her parents’ death, she’d taunted Azog, knowing he would hurt her. She’d chatted amiably with Trolls who’d tried to rip her apart not half an hour beforehand, and she would do the same here. In his place, she would toy with Thranduil, give away nothing of her thoughts, manipulate him into doing as she wished. Thorin’s rage tempered as he hid a smile. As satisfying as it would be to storm at the Elvenking, it would be a thousand times better to watch his composure wear away until he was as raw as Thorin felt. He could be patient. He just didn’t usually have a reason to be.

“You and your folk tried to attack my people two times at their merrymaking. Why?”

Thorin kept his face blank. “We did not attack them. We came to beg, because we were starving.”

“Where are your friends now, and what are they doing?”

A flash of elation, followed by pride, sped through Thorin, and he struggled not to grin. _You don’t have them. If you did, you’d be holding them over me like the scum you are. My One, my family, my Company, they’re outwitting you already._ “I don’t know,” he said amiably, “But I expect starving in the forest.”

“What were you doing in the forest?”

“Looking for food and drink, because we were starving.” 

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, and he snapped, “But what brought you into the forest at all?” Thorin couldn’t quite suppress a smirk, and the king’s expression darkened further. “Do not think I am blind, Dwarf. You travel to Erebor, that much is clear, but would you be foolish enough to wake the beast? You, the son of Thrain, who have seen dragon-fire for yourself?” The urge to rail at the Elf was almost overpowering, and Thorin clenched his jaw to keep from doing just that. Thranduil tried to provoke him several more times, but eventually scoffed at his silence and turned away. “Very well. Take him away. You can rot for a hundred years, if that is what you wish. A century is nothing to an Elf. I can wait.”

Thorin intensified his glare, but offered no resistance as the guards took him away. They escorted him through the winding paths to a cell, not large, but sturdily made. After they shoved him inside and locked the door, they left him to his thoughts. At first, he examined the door, hopeful that it would be shoddy craftsmanship, but recognized the metalwork as being Dwarven. The dungeons in Erebor bore the same subtle signature, that of a Prince of Erebor who’d lived a millennia earlier. Thorin couldn’t remember his name now. All too soon, he exhausted the feeble entertainment available to him, and could avoid thoughts of the Company no longer. 

 _They’re still out there. Thranduil wouldn’t have lied about that, he’s too petty. Bella_ — Pain stabbed through him at the thought of her trapped in her nightmares without him. He forced himself to breathe through it, and think rationally. _Fíli and Kíli are with her. They can’t help as much, but they can help a little, at least. Both of them would gladly die to protect her, a thousand times over. They’ll keep her safe, and they’ll get out of the forest. She’ll be better then. She’ll live, that’s what she keeps insisting, and she’ll have new scars, but she’ll live, and she’ll recover. She’s too strong to let this be the end of her. She’s stronger than me. And she’s been better the last few days. If she’s awake, she’ll make sure they get out_. He smiled. _If she’s awake, she’ll probably storm the gates and tear Thranduil apart. I would pay to see that. She’d win, too, especially if she got her hands on a bow._  

He chuckled, and did his best to think of her smile, of her victory, of her happiness, rather than the possibility, as strong as he knew it was, that she would starve before accomplishing any of the things he was imagining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that they're supposed to try and get food three times, not twice, but Bella decided she was having none of their idiocy and stepped in to save the day, sort of. Last half of the chapter is almost completely from the book, 'cause I like book!Thorin. Thranduil does have a few lines from the movie, though, 'cause I really don't like that guy. Lee Pace? Yeah, I like him, he was awesome as the Piemaker, but Thranduil? Great acting, terrible character.  
> Next chapter on Wednesday! Bella's PoV. *cackles evilly*  
> À bientôt!
> 
> P.S., her final escape from the Camps was mostly inspired by Flyin', by Regina Spektor. I would post the lines, but it's like two paragraphs, so you should just listen to the song, instead. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inQBrc7CMCo) Lyrics are in the description, it's the fourth verse, but the entire song is the one that she sang while she was climbing down from the Carrock. Anachronistic? Yes. Do I care? No. I like this song. It's weird.  
> ...  
> See ya!


	36. Gestarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hate spiders. This chapter was very cathartic. *grins*

Bella caught herself on a branch, eyes wide, and barely kept herself from looking down and seeing just how far she would’ve fallen. Arms straining, she pulled herself up and kept climbing. The last few weeks had felt as though she were imprisoned in her own mind, seeing and hearing what was going on, but unable to really act. Some part of her, tucked away in the back of her mind, had been aware of her surroundings even during her day-dreams. That part had fought to the surface when they found the river, and broke through when Bombur fell, but it had sunken soon after that, though never as deeply as it had been. She’d recovered some of her sanity after Bombur woke, and a little more when they saw the lights, but it was the sleep that had helped most. Her dreams had been of food, much like Bombur kept describing, and she’d felt happier than she could remember ever being, but as soon as Thorin woke her she realized that it was an illusion. 

She hadn’t been truly happy since before the Fell winter, but her time with the Dwarves had come close. Her time with Thorin had come even closer. If they hadn’t been in the middle of this Yavanna-forsaken blight of a forest, she probably would have kissed him when he stopped her from going to the Elves again. Not because he stopped her, that was annoying, actually, but because he had been so broken, so afraid of losing her, that she finally saw what Bofur had told her. Thorin loved her. He looked at her the way her father had looked at her mother towards the end, and Bella wanted nothing more than to get out of this forest and find out if he would still look at her the same way when she didn’t rely on him so much. She hoped he did. She really hoped so, because she was started to understand how her mother must have felt, how Primula felt about Drogo.

And then she’d lost him. She’d latched onto the first Dwarf she felt run past her, and the rest eventually gathered together, but Thorin was gone. He was still alive. He had to be. She had blacked out as soon as she stepped into the clearing, so the same thing probably happened to him, in which case it would only make sense for the Elves to take him somewhere and question him. Why they wouldn’t take the entire Company, and why they hadn't taken her earlier, she didn’t understand, but it was the only explanation. The Elves had him. They had him, and they would keep him alive, and Bella would find him and get him away from them and get them all out of this Eru-cursed, Hobbit-Bane forest. Even if it meant staying behind herself.

Soon after the Company regrouped, Fíli had taken charge, and had the idea of climbing a tree to get their bearings. Nori had immediately begun to clamber up, but had descended after a few minutes, saying that he’d been too heavy to get high enough. Bella had decided then to scale a tree herself, but hadn’t brought it up until morning. There wouldn’t be any point in climbing at night; she wouldn’t be able to see half the detail one of the Dwarves could. When they'd all eaten, and once it was light enough, she’d pointed at herself, then a random tree, then straight up. 

It was hard for her to talk. After her parents’ deaths, she hadn’t said a word until after she escaped, and she’d barely spoken before they died. The Orcs hated the sound of any language that wasn’t Black Speech, and had beaten any slaves who dared speak Westron. They’d usually beaten any slaves who dared speak at all, but Black Speech was occasionally safe. She’d expected agony every time she spoke for the first weeks after getting away, but had broken that habit a few months after returning to the Shire. Or she had until this forest got to her, anyway. It had been hard to speak to Thorin. It was impossible to speak to the others.

Fíli had argued with her, as had Bofur, Bifur, Dwalin, and Dori, but Kíli, Kítos, and Nori had all supported her. The others had been neutral. She felt wretched for splitting the boys, and Kítos’ family, but had stood her ground. This was too important, and they loved each other. They’d get over a little disagreement. Fíli had been carrying her sword for weeks now, as they’d thought she might hurt herself or Thorin if she had it during a nightmare, and she reclaimed it along with another knife he pushed her to take before helping her to the first branch. She’d looked back at him, seen the fear in his eyes, and smiled reassuringly at him, tapping her bead and her blades before brushing her fingertips across his cheek.

Now, though, part of her wished she’d been a little less resolute. She hated climbing trees. Internally, though, she thanked the twins. If they hadn’t taught her archery, she would've been in much worse condition. As it was, even half-starved, she had enough strength in her arms and her back to make the climb… not quite easy, but not too difficult. Just as the branches started to bend under her negligible weight, she broke through the last layer of leaves, butterflies and spiders fleeing from her as she shut her eyes against the painfully bright light. She barely noticed. It was as though a fog had cleared from her mind, and she breathed the fresh air deeply, throwing her head back and laughing loudly at the sky. As her gaze lowered, she saw a single peak, mostly obscured by clouds, but closer than she had expected.

Her eyes watered as she smiled. “Erebor.” The butterflies, a solid black colour she’d never seen before, caught her attention for an instant before she clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She started laughing again. She hadn’t thought before speaking, hadn’t flinched at the sound of her laughter, hadn’t even thought of pain. She remembered it now, along with Azog and Gollum and the rest of her monsters, but they were far away. Memories, that’s all. Her laughter faded, but the smile remained. One of her monsters or another had been haunting her for the last twenty years, always seeming as though they were just behind her, ready to snatch her back if she made a single mistake. Looking at the mountain, seeing the lake and river that were even closer, Azog and all the others seemed as far away as they could be. They couldn’t touch her. And if they tried, if Azog came back, if Gollum tracked her down, she would fight. She would fight past the pain and the terror, she would never let them make her helpless again. And neither would this forest.

Movement drew her eyes down, and she realized something was moving through the trees, just under the surface. What it was, she couldn’t tell, but it was huge, it was fast, and it was coming towards her, _towards the Company_. The spike of fear turned to anger. _You won’t hurt them. You won’t hurt me. I’ll kill you first_. She ducked under the leaves to get a better view, and her hand brushed her pocket as she steadied herself. She froze, then, with a vicious grin, pulled out the ring and slipped it on. 

Instantly, the world darkened and greyed, but somehow she could see better than before, as clearly as she’d been able to above the leaves. She tried to shift on the branch, but her feet were caught in something, a sticky sort of glue, almost like… _Spiders. Of course there’s giant Spiders_. One was moving toward her, swinging its head _?_ back and forth as though it were searching for something, and hissing softly to itself _why can I understand it it’s an animalinsectmonster doesn’t have a real mouth_ as it moved.

“ **Smell it, find it, warm meat, juicy, but not like the other meat, not like them.** ” Bella drew her sword as softly as she could, but the creature bolted toward her anyway. “ **There!** ” As it charged, she did the only thing she could; she waited and readied her sword, and when the spider reached her, she stabbed it in the face. It screamed, the sound overlaying a more arachnidian screech, and cried out, “ **What is it? It stings!** ” 

Bella slashed at its face again, then leaned forward to stab it in the underbelly. It jerked and its legs contracted; it fell, and she stared at the blood coating her blade. “Sting.” She smiled. Her sword finally had a name. She cut carefully at the webs coating the branch, and freed her feet. Below her, she could just make out the shapes of more Spiders moving slowly on the ground. Slowly, watching and listening for more Spiders, she made her way down. By the time she reached the forest floor, the Spiders were almost out of sight, but she was easily able to see them now that she was on solid ground. They were dragging bundles behind them, and Bella’s blood chilled. _The Company should have been waiting for me. They weren’t, and the only way some of them would have left was if they didn’t have a choice_. Her eyes narrowed at the retreating arachnids. _You took their choice away. You won’t take them from me_.

She followed them as silently as she could; combined with her ring, she was hardly more than a ghost. She’d counted the bundles as she caught up, and realized quickly that at least two were missing. With the way the Spiders moved, it was impossible to keep all of them in sight, and if she struck now, and some of the Company had been taken ahead, it would take time to find them, time they wouldn’t have. The best option she could see was to trail behind until they reached their nest, until she could make sure all twelve were there. _Then Sting will earn its name a few more times_. At one point, she accidentally tweaked one of the webs that stretched between the trees, and the Spiders instantly spun around. She froze, holding her breath, and after a moment, they turned back around and kept moving, albeit more warily than before. Another Spider came from ahead, and exchanged a few words she was too far away to make out before heading straight for her.

Still frozen, she risked taking a shallow breath. The arachnid slowed. It looked toward her. Took a single step… and retreated. She held her breath for another few moments, before cautiously following it. If it had smelled her, she would've had to kill it, and the other Spiders would have heard. They would have attacked her, too, and even if she killed them all, there was no guarantee that the rest of the Company was nearby. She might never have found them.

As they traveled, more and more of her surroundings were coated in webs, and she had a hard time keeping up while avoiding them. But within a few more minutes, she saw the Dwarves, still in their bundles, being hung to dry in the great webs. _One, two, three… all twelve_. She felt a little of her tension drain away, and more when she saw that several were struggling. _The spiders at home poisoned their prey, but sometimes the prey woke up_. She smiled. If she could get to them quickly, there didn’t seem to be any reason why they wouldn’t recover. With her free hand, she picked a rock up off the ground and hurled at one of them. The rock struck the Spider square in the face, and it fell off the webbing, legs curling underneath it. The others were either too shocked to move or didn't think there would be any further threat. _Wrong_. 

She got off two more stones, both hitting their mark and killing their targets, before the Spiders thought to chase her, yelling obscenities. She kept them at a distance, slashing at any that got too close, until they were a few minutes away from the nest. She threw a stone in the same direction she’d been going and hid behind a tree while they scurried past. Once they were gone, still shouting about how they would kill her, she ran silently back to the nest and hurried to the Dwarves. The Spiders would likely be back in a minute when they realized she had doubled back, so she had to be careful who to cut free first. _There!_ Nori’s hair was distinctive even when he was covered in webs, and he always had a few knives on him. She severed one of the strands tethering him and dragged him onto the branch before cutting the rest. He opened his eyes groggily as she pulled the stuff off his face but she didn’t wait before scanning the webs. _That one has to be Bombur, that’ll be Kítos— Dwalin!_ She cut him free the same way as she’d done for Nori, and glanced around again. 

She cut Kíli, Fíli, and Bifur free, and was finishing with Gloin when the Spiders’ furious bellowing came within earshot. Nori was conscious now, and starting to free the others, but the rest of them were still groggy, to some extent, and definitely not ready to fight for their lives. Without a second thought, she scurried down to the ground and away from the Company, yelling at the horde, “Old fat Spiders, spinning in a tree; old fat Spiders can’t see me!” She threw a few stones for good measure, and the Spiders were so enraged that most of them never even looked toward the Dwarves. 

A few of the Spiders rushed her, but she slashed and swung and stabbed and then they were dead. The rest of them, though they sounded livid, kept their distance until she started pitching rocks at them; she killed seven more in this way, quick as a wink, before they tried to swarm her again. Another five fell to Sting, then two more to her aim, then nine to her sword. They had backed away again and she was just reaching for a stone when the Dwarves thudded to the ground and charged the swarm. All of them were fully awake, and fought as well as she’d ever seen them, but she couldn’t throw anything at the Spiders without hitting the Company. So, still invisible, she darted to and fro, jabbing at the ones that attacked Bombur and Kítos with a vengeance. She wasn’t quite as engrossed in the fight as the Dwarves, though, and so was the only one who heard the Elves coming. 

The Company was surrounded in a matter of seconds, but Bella’d had just enough warning to get far enough away from them that she wasn’t penned in as they were. The Elves were glowing, ethereal beings with the ring on, bright enough that Bella thought she should have gotten a headache from looking at them, but somehow the light was almost soothing. She moved silently, and none of the Elves heard as she crept by them. Through either sheer luck or Yavanna’s influence _or Mahal’s,_ she was close enough to Kíli to see as a Spider grabbed at him. She stood, Sting raised, fully aware that this would get her captured, as well, or at least make it much more difficult to follow the Dwarves, but another Elf whirled in before Bella could do anything. 

The Elleth fought fluidly, moving from one target to the next, and shot the Spider attacking Kíli while fending off two others. Another Spider charged down the hill facing Bella, and she grabbed a stone, ready to defend him. Again, before Bella had the chance to, the Elleth dispatched it, while saving Kíli _did she just insult my brother no that was just racist I’m still going to kick her butt for that_ _what is that look_ and he turned to the Elleth with an almost awed expression. Looking between them, Bella wasn’t sure the Elleth was exactly indifferent to him, even if she was hiding it. _Well, this is more complicated than I expected. Fíli’s going to blow up. Oh, Thorin’s going to kill him. Or maybe her. Or both of them. That seems more likely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, this explained her mindset well enough. Also, with the ring on, it's impossible to see hair color or anything, so sorry, but you're going to have to put up with a lot of 'the Elf' and 'the Elleth's. At least until she learns their names.  
> Next chapter, Bella's gonna observe her first non-Rivendell Elves. I wonder if she'll notice a difference.  
> À bientôt!


	37. Hadedtarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil's Palace. The Dungeons. Whatever. Why is there no easy shorthand for this?

The Elleth escorted Kíli back to the rest of the group as the one Elf ordered the others to search the Company. Bella stayed near one of the sentries at the edge of the clearing, on a small ledge high enough to give her a good vantage point. She stifled a snicker as an Elf started pulling knives off of Fíli, _good luck finding them all_ , and bit back sympathetic anger when the apparent leader insulted Gloin’s wife and son. 

The Elleth went to the leader’s side, and he spoke to her in Sindarin. _“Are the Spiders dead?”_

 _“Yes, but more will come.”_ He frowned, just slightly, and she hushed her voice, but Bella could still hear the censure there. _“They’re growing bolder_.” _Well, at least I won’t have an idiot for a sister-in-law_. 

After another Elf told him that they’d found all the weapons, the leader called out, _“Take them!”_  

The dwarves were pushed into a rough line, and Bofur hissed to Fíli, “Where’s Bella?” Fíli immediately shushed him, but she could see the tension in his back, how stiffly he held himself. In fact, all of the Dwarves looked worried, although they were probably thinking of Thorin, not her. Kíli and Kítos, though, she was fairly sure were looking for her as they walked. She had a harder time keeping up than she had with the Spiders; the Elves pushed the Dwarves as hard as they could, and several times one of the others had to help Balin or Kítos up after they fell. Bella would have grown to hate the Elves as much as the Dwarves seemed to, if she hadn’t noticed two things. First, she saw that the Elleth who’d saved Kíli and a couple others moved to help the Dwarves several times, but never reached them before the moment passed, and second, all of the Elves, especially the Elleth and the leader, occasionally cast wary glances at the forest, and gripped their weapons a little tighter every time they heard a noise in the distance. The Dwarves, in the middle of the group, noticed neither, but Bella did.

 _They’re as worried as we were, for all their pomp. Honestly. They puff themselves up more than the Sackville-Bagginses, but you’d never catch a Hobbit being cruel like that, just to save face. If they’d only explain, the Dwarves probably wouldn’t fight half as much. Probably. I think_. They reached a healthier section of the forest after an hour or so of walking, and Bella felt her mind clear again, the fog that had been edging back in evaporating. The Dwarves looked no different, _no surprise, they didn’t seem nearly as affected as I was in the first place_ , but neither did the Elves. _Aren’t Elves supposed to be more in tune with nature? Can’t they feel it?_

Another half an hour brought the procession to a massive set of doors hewn into a cliff, with a bridge stretching over the river that separated the palace, _it’s got to be a palace, with carvings like that_ , and Bella fell back a few feet to make sure no one would hear her. The leader called for the guards to close the gate, but paused before actually going in. Bella held her breath as she edged past. She thought she’d be about level with his navel, give or take an inch given that she couldn’t actually see it. She moved to the edge of the platform and held onto a pillar as she took in the sight of the palace. _Definitely_ _a palace_. 

It was even more cavernous _and swooping and soaring and huge_ than Rivendell, and she tailed the _frankly ridiculous number of_ guards escorting the Dwarves _they already took their weapons, what, do they think the Company will rip their throats out with their teeth? Wait, okay, Dwalin might_ and hesitated for a moment as the leader pulled Balin aside and up to another Elf, this one with a crown, sitting on a dais. Stay with Balin, or follow the others? Kítos stumbled again, and Bella’s heart wrenched. Fíli and Kíli glanced at each other, sharing an expression Bella recognized as the one she’d nicknamed ‘be strong for Thorin’, and her decision was made. She tossed a silent apology to Balin and hurried after the Company. _I can always ask him what happened later_.

The Elves’ path wound down into the depths of the palace, until they were walking on stone rather than wood, and Bella saw the smallest change in the Dwarves’ bearing, a tiny bit of confidence regained. One by one, the Company were shoved into cells, although Oin and Gloin were allowed to stay together. She smirked as the Elf holding Fíli pulled one last dagger out of his jacket, and was glad to see that Fíli and Kíli weren’t too far apart, although there was a cell in between them that Dori was occupying. 

The Elleth was the one to lead Kíli to his cell, and he looked up at her innocently. “Aren’t you going to search me? I could have anything down my trousers.” Bella had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. _Undad, not the time!_

“Or nothing.” The Elleth closed the door on him with a half-smile, and Bella saw Kíli lean against the bars, smiling dreamily after her.

The leader stopped her as she walked away. _“Why does the Dwarf stare at you, Tauriel?”_  

 _“Who can say?”_ Her response was a little too quick to be anything but defensive, but she dropped her guard as she continued. _“He’s quite tall for a Dwarf_. _”_ She smiled, but caught herself a moment later and schooled her expression. _“Do you not think?”_  

_I wonder if Dwelves are possible. I think we might be finding out soon. Oh, gross, I did_ _not_ _need that image!_

_“Taller than some,_ ” The leader turned as the Elleth, Tauriel, left. _“But no less ugly_.” _You’re going to get kicked in the face if you keep saying things like that._ She crept past him as he and Kíli glared at each other, and pressed herself against the wall next the cell as she waited for the Elves to leave. 

Dwalin, Fíli, and a few others started throwing themselves at the cell doors, trying to break through, and she used the sound to cover her whisper, reaching through the bars to tap Kíli’s arm. “Thorin’s going to kill you.”

He sat up, looking almost painfully hopeful. “Bella?” As soon as the word left his mouth, he winced, presumably at the volume, but kept looking for her regardless.

She touched his face lightly, and his hand covered hers. “I’m going to watch. It’ll be hilarious, especially since Fíli’ll probably help. Really, Kíli, an Elf?”

He blushed, and Bella nearly laughed at how adorable he looked, but his expression sobered a moment later as his fingers followed her arm and he shifted closer to the door to pat her down through the bars. “Are you really here? How are you doing that? Are you okay?” His questions were rushed, but Bella was grateful, in a way. It gave her an excuse to ignore the middle.

“I’m fine. I’ve got Spider blood on my hands and it smells awful, but apart from that, I couldn’t be better.” She smiled at him fondly as he carefully pulled her head down to meet his. 

“Make it stop, whatever it is. I need to see you for myself.” Her eyes lowered to where he was now clasping their hands together, and her blood chilled. His hands were thinner than they had been before a month of constant hunger, but she had barely eaten as much as the Company for that time; her hands were almost skeletal compared to his blocky digits. She was built more narrowly than them, her fingers had always been more slender, although they were the same length, but now they looked no thicker than a leaf. He would only worry more, powerlessly and unnecessarily, if he could see her.

 _He needs to focus on himself. I’m invisible. I can always just steal food_. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. If any guards come back, if I’m seen, I’ll be caught and jailed with the rest of you. I won’t be able to help.”

He frowned, distraught. “I hate this. I hate not knowing if you’re safe.”

She chuckled softly. “Given that the entire reason I’m here is so that I can sneak into a dragon’s lair while the rest of you wait outside, I think you’ll have to get over that.” Footsteps came into earshot, and she pressed a quick kiss to Kíli’s temple, pulling her hands out of his. “I’ll be back when I can. Don’t panic if you don’t hear from me for a while.” He cried out when she moved away, but was able to pretend it had only been over the relief of seeing Balin being led into the room. Bella waited until the guards left again, then approached Balin’s cell, crouching by the side so that he wouldn’t see her, or not see her as the case may be, at first. “Balin!”

He jerked to face the door, and scanned the room for Elves before moving to the door and hissing just as quietly as she had, “Bella? Is that you, lass?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, then tapped him gently on the hand. “I’m here.” His mouth fell open, eyes wide, but she cut him off. “What happened while you were away? I stayed with the others, I didn’t see.”

After gaping for another moment, he collected himself and told her. He had been brought before Thranduil, the Elven king, and interrogated about why they were in Mirkwood. Balin had given him no answer except to ask what crime they had committed, to be locked away like animals. The king had been angry, and said that they had trespassed in his realm, threatened his people, and stirred up the Spiders. Balin had been told that they would all be imprisoned until they gave the king a more satisfactory answer. She didn't think much of this king. He sounded proud beyond reason, belligerent beyond sense, and, like his people, more than a little ready to assume Dwarves were up to no good merely by existing. She said as much to Balin, and he chuckled.

“Now you’re thinking like a Dwarrowdam, lass. Have you spoken with the others yet?”

She shook her head. “Only Kíli.”

“Fíli’ll be frantic.” He bobbed his head in Fíli’s direction. _He must have seen when they brought him in_. “Go on and tell them. I’ll give you a little cover.” That, he accomplished by asking Dwalin if he was alright, who immediately asked what had happened with Thranduil. As Balin filled the Dwarves in, Bella moved from one to the next, starting with Fíli, of course, telling each ‘yes, I’m real, yes, I’m fine, no, I won’t turn visible again, not yet’ and unable to shake Balin’s words about her attitude toward Thranduil. He’d meant it as a compliment, she didn’t doubt that, but she wasn’t sure it was a good thing. She had essentially said that Thranduil sounded like Melkor-spawn. She’d been as harsh in her assessment of him as he and the other Elves were of the Company. After she finished with the Dwarves, she found a quiet corner and thought.

She’d tried never to judge others like that. After the Camps, everyone had seemed like an enemy, and it had taken a long while before she was able to meet a stranger without expecting them to attack. This wasn’t the same, not quite, but it was close enough to bother her. _The Elleth, Tauriel, is different than I thought at first, and all the Elves that were in the forest turned out to be more like us than unlike. But if I hadn’t seen them, if I’d only heard about it from the Company, I wouldn’t have realized that. Elladan and Elrohir are two of the best people I know, Elf or not, as is Arathorn, as are Fíli and Kíli and Th— … and the rest of the Company, regardless of_ _what_ _they are. Thranduil still doesn’t sound very nice, or fair, but the rest I’ll decide after I see him for myself, and not before._ She nodded to herself, and tried to plan out how she would use the rest of the day, but her thoughts continually strayed back to the one place she tried to avoid.

Her eyes watered, and she tried to use the tears to wipe away some of the Spider blood. _Where’s Thorin? If the Elves had him, he’d be here. He must be so afraid, and so worried for us. Although they might have other dungeons. He’s probably trying to find us. If they found a single prisoner, and didn’t realize he was part of a larger party, would they put him somewhere else? Would he… Could he be worried for me, too? If I had royalty captive, I’d want him somewhere especially secure. Of course he’s worried for me, he’s spent the last month keeping me alive and now I’m on my own, as far as he knows. I’d keep him somewhere easier to guard and harder to escape from than this. Except I’m not on my own, I have my brothers, and the Company. And if I were designing a place like this, I’d put the really tough spot lower down, away from the front door. But he would worry anyway, it’s Thorin. And if I had to deal with Thorin Broodyface McMajestic, I’d put him in the secure prison I had. And he loves me. So if he’s not here yet, he’ll probably get himself caught soon and be brought here anyway_. She smiled. Thorin loved her, and if he was here, he’d be kept separate from the others. Now she had a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the thoughts are a little confusing, but that's how I think, with random observations popping in every few words or with multiple streams of thought going at the same time, so it just seemed right to write it like that. The whole thing is mostly movie-based, but in the book Balin was the default leader while Thorin was captured, which doesn't match up with fanon, so I decided that Thranduil was just being a prejudiced jerk and assumed that the old one is the only one who could possibly be the leader.  
> Pretty big time jump between this and the next chapter, since it would be insanely repetitive, but the next one's a doozy. *evil grin*  
> À bientôt!


	38. Gimontarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bagginshield reunion.

Bella couldn’t breathe. It had taken her three weeks to have her theory confirmed, hearing a rather petty Elf complaining about how far down he had to walk to bring the Dwarf his food, and another week of trial and error to find the right passageway. The fact that she was starting to feel weak from how little food she could steal, and faint from sleeping with the ring on, didn’t help. But now, now Thorin was just on the other side of the bars, leaning against the far side of the cell with his eyes closed. She crept silently to the bars and wrapped her hands around them as she kneeled. The guards didn’t come into this corridor except to drop off food. She didn’t know why, but it wasn’t as though it would make it easier to get Thorin out when the time eventually came; there was only one exit to the corridor, with a sturdy door that the guards stood on the other side of, and Bella would have a hard enough time getting out herself. When the guard she’d followed exited, and the door closed behind him and left Bella alone in the hall, she almost couldn’t speak for a moment.

After she gathered her breath, she called his name softly. He scowled, and shifted against the wall, but didn’t otherwise react. _Is he asleep?_ She called him again, a hair louder, and his eyes opened to stare dully at the ceiling. After a moment, he rubbed his hand across his eyes, and she called him again. She couldn’t seem to be able to say anything but his name, but she poured all her desperation and distress into her voice, and this time he looked at the door for an instant before scoffing and looking away again. _He thinks he’s imagining it_. The realization came slower than it should have, and took Bella off-guard. Her head dropped, and she held back tears, shaking the bars in her frustration.

Unexpectedly, they rattled: barely, but audibly. Thorin froze, and cautiously, slowly, moved to the door, expression guarded. He reached out. She stopped breathing. His fingers brushed hers. They felt searing compared to the freezing stone that constantly surrounded her, and she stifled a sob. His expression changed to one of desperate urgency, and he wound his arms around her, through the bars, and pulled her to him as her breath hitched and she could only say his name over and over as she clung to him.

“Mahal, Bella, you’re frozen.” His voice broke, and he ran his hands over her much as Kíli had when they first arrived in the prison, but he had always _always?_ been more aware of her than either of her brothers. “And you’re skin and bones.” _Of course he’d be the one to notice_. He tried to pull her even closer, and glowered at the bars when they got in his way.

She placed her hands on either side of his face, feeling his beard scuff against her palms, strands of his hair falling over the backs of his hands, and he closed his eyes, sighing softly, though the lines didn’t completely leave his face. His hands dropped lightly to her waist as she rose slightly to press her forehead against his, but tightened, supporting her when she started to draw away. They stayed like that for nearly a minute as she gathered her thoughts and more words than just ‘Thorin’. When she did speak, her voice was hoarse and raw, and she had to clear her throat to rid it of the threat of tears. “The entire Company’s here, we have been for about a month, but at first we didn’t know where you were and then it took me so long to find you—”

“Your timing couldn’t have been better. I was almost ready to give up.”

Her hands clenched a little at the defeated note in his voice. “You’re King under the Mountain. You don’t give up. That’s what those idiots in Ered Luin who wouldn’t help you are for.”

He huffed, sounding closer to tears than laughter, but at least he was smiling. His eyes opened and the smile fell away, and she guessed, correctly, what he would say next. “Bella, how are you doing that?”

She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice as she replied, “As I keep telling all of you, yes, I’m real, yes, I’m fine—”

“I don’t doubt that you’re here, Bella, but how are you doing that?” Somehow, his eyes were looking straight at hers, although they weren’t focused, but his voice made up for that. Watching him, she couldn’t bring herself to lie. Not when he sounded so alarmed. And if anyone should know, it was him.

 _How to begin?_ “I… In the forest, when I told you about the Goblin Caves, I didn’t tell you everything. When…” She stopped to gather her breath. It felt as though her tongue were weighed down, and every word was an effort, some more than others. “When Gollum fought the Orc, there was a ring, it… it fell, or flew, or… or maybe jumped… out of his pocket. I picked it up and put… put it in my pocket. That was my question, the last riddle, the one that stumped him. He asked for a question, and the first one I thought of was ‘what’s in my pocket’.” He thought he still had it, he was frantic at the thought of losing it, and he was furious when he realized… realized I had it. When he was chasing me, I fell and the… the ring, it… landed on my finger. He ran right past me. After all of you ran past, I wasn’t two feet away from him and he never realized I was there. I had a blade to his throat and he never knew. I jumped over him, and caught up to all of you, and I didn't take… didn’t take it off for a minute. I listened, and decided for myself that I was going to help you no matter what, and then I took the… the ring off.”

He had gone completely still halfway through, his expression somewhere between nauseous and panicked. “Bella, when you have this ring on, how does it affect you?”

She frowned at him. _It makes me invisible, what else matters?_ But his question made her remember that there were a few things she’d noticed. “It’s… cold, when I have it on, and I can see better. I could understand the Spiders… and I can understand the Elves perfectly even though I’m still learning Sindarin. And—” _And sometimes, in the back of my mind, there’s something there, nudging me toward things or away from them_. She hadn’t realized that until she had almost said it out loud, and Thorin’s horrified expression made her glad she’d stopped in time.

His voice was hoarse, but measured. “There are items in the world, magic things, that corrupt their wearers, kill them from the inside out.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not doing anything like that.”

He carefully cupped her face between his hands, and the heat there was so intense that she placed her hands on top of his to try and warm them, too. “It is. You weren’t this cold during the Giant-battle on the mountain.”

She shook her head again, carefully, trying not to dislodge him. “I haven’t had my furnaces, that’s all, and I’ve been sleeping on cold stone—”

“Bella, you’re colder than stone.” She almost contradicted him again, but he sounded so broken, he looked so afraid, so… so like he was trying not to cry. He rubbed gently at her cheeks, and she realized she was crying herself. “Take it off. Please, take it off.”

She stared at him. _He’s right. It is strange, and it made me forget I had it, somehow. It is hurting me, but… but if I take it off, he’ll never want me to put it back on. He’ll look at me like this and plead with me and he’ll be right, but I need it. I need it to get everyone out of here, to get_ _him_ _out of here._ She closed her eyes, berating herself for her cowardice, but unable to watch his reaction. “No. If I do, I’ll never be able to stay out of a cell, I’ll be caught—”

“Leave. Find a way out of this makalfumunul deathtrap, take that thing off, and don’t look back.” Her eyes shot open, and she felt angrier than she had since before Beorn’s. 

Taking her hands off of his and clutching his shirt, she kept him against the bars, inches away from her as she snarled, “And leave you to rot? Just go to some Dwarf colony where I don’t know anyone, or worse, go back to the Shire, and what?! Spend the next sixty years of my life never knowing what happened to you, never seeing you again?!?” She realized that she was nearly touching him, his face _his lips_ barely an inch away, and sat back on her heels, flushing. As she did, she realized that through her rant, she’d only thought of leaving him, not the Company, not even her brothers, and her anger abruptly cooled. Her grip loosened. He caught her hands as they fell from his shirt, and she finished wearily, “I can’t do that any more than you, or Fíli or Kíli could. Please, don’t ask me again.”

She couldn’t look at him, and moved closer when he charily pulled her toward him, turning sideways to lean against the bars with his arms around her. He couldn’t fit his head through, otherwise she was sure he’d have it resting on hers, the way he did whenever she was especially upset. He murmured, and hearing him without feeling his voice rumble through her was almost physically painful. “Tell me of the Company. They are well?”

She held onto his arms as she spoke, feeling comforted just by his presence. “Bored silly, and I mean that literally, but well. Thranduil thinks that Balin is the leader, so I’ve been running instructions to him from Fíli, keeping up the pretense. Fíli hates it, but everyone’s terrified of losing him, especially Kíli.”

“And Kíli? How is he?” _Falling in love with an Elf?_ She bit back a hysterical laugh. For all her joking, she knew Thorin would be furious. She hesitated, trying to find the words, and he tensed. “What aren't you saying?”

“He’s fine, he is,” She hurried to reassure him. “…He’s become friends with one of the guards.” His arms turned to stone around her, and she ran her hands along them soothingly. “The first few days, I followed the Elves around, learning the halls, and I watched them. People don’t generally lie to themselves, and you can learn more about them when they think they’re alone than through hours of conversation. I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt.

“Most of the Elves are fools, a few are cruel, and one is as horrible a person as I can imagine. Thranduil is as terrible as you all told me. Greedy, vain, arrogant. And the way he treats his son! He speaks as though his wife meant everything to him, but he treats Legolas like a child, even though he might be one of two Elves in the forest with any sense. Legolas follows his father in everything, but when he’s left to his own devices, he shows himself to be ten times as sensible.

“But still not as good as Tauriel. She’s the Captain of the Guard, and by far the best of them all. She’s the one Kíli’s gotten to know.” She turned to look up at him and sighed at the loathing in his eyes. She tucked his hair behind his ear, softly skimmed her fingertips over his brows, and the lines there eased just slightly. “She’s kind to him, brings him extra food,” She laughed lightly to keep her tears at bay, “which he turns around and gives to me. She talks to him, and I think…” She rested her head against the bars, fighting back tears. “I hate seeing how worried he is, he and Fíli. I hate even thinking about it, but he is worried. Worried for himself, and for the Company. He’s worried about you, worried that you’re somewhere, lost and alone. And he’s worried about me.” Her breath hitched, and she wiped away tears. “He doesn’t know what condition I’m in, none of them do. I don’t let them close enough to know. But he worries about how alone I am, how much they’re all relying on me, and…” Her voice broke. “Thorin,” the name was a sob, “I don’t think he would even be able to smile if it weren’t for her. I can’t stay with him all the time, and Fíli’s far enough away that it wears on them both, but she makes him smile.” She shook her head, breathing shakily. “You have no idea how hard that is just now.”

Slowly, his arms relaxed and he let out a shuddering breath. With one hand, he delicately wiped away her tears, and kept his other arm around her. “The others?”

She smiled. “Oin and Gloin are together. Bifur’s alone, so when I have time he gives me messages phonetically for the others, and whoever I deliver it to walks me through the words, helps me understand them. Bofur’s gotten into the habit of singing as loudly as he can during the night, to ‘annoy the leaf-eaters’, as he puts it. Bombur’s been giving me almost all his food. I think he’s trying to apologize for everyone having to carry him. Fíli’s holding up fairly well; being in charge, even if it’s secret, keeps him busy and overthinking everything in Durin family tradition, as far as I can tell. Dwalin has been trying to break down his door since we got here, but I think at this point it’s just something to do. Balin talks to Thranduil every few days. I usually go with him and watch. They took away Ori’s book, but I found it before they could throw it out or anything. I have it hidden, along with most of the weapons and packs. Dori’s in between Fíli and Kíli, so he usually either ignores them or gets roped into their conversations. Nori taught me to pick locks,” _but I’m so hungry that I can’t keep my hands steady._ “But I’m not very good at it.”

Thorin’s right hand dropped to her waist, and she suppressed a shiver as his thumb moved over her ribs. “You aren’t eating enough.”

Regretfully, she placed her hand on his, stilling him. “I’m eating as much as I can. Fíli and Kíli both give me half their food, and like I said, Bombur gives me most of his. Balin and Dwalin try to give me theirs, but I never take more than a few bites. Between them, I’m getting nearly twice what the others are.” 

 _Don’t ask, don’t ask don’taskdon’t—_ “Then why are you losing weight?”

She sighed. _Why does he have to be so stubborn?_ “Because they’re only fed twice a day. And I’ve been worried.” _Too worried about you to eat half of what they give me._ Squeezing his hand gently, she brightened her tone. “But that’s not counting what I can steal, which isn’t much, but it’s something. And there’s the food Tauriel brings!” _Which I’ve barely touched for a week, but oh well._

She started to continue, but Thorin’s hand tightened for an instant and she fell silent as he thought. The slew of emotions, that had been assailing her since she found him, faded in the quiet, and the exhaustion she’d been fending off for days rose to the surface, too strong for her to fight. _Or maybe I’m too weak_. Thorin stirred her out of a light doze when he finally spoke. “Tauriel. You trust her?” His voice was gruff, but she could hear the uncertainty there.

She smiled sleepily. “I wouldn’t pick her over y— over any of you Durins, and I’m not saying to invite her to join the quest, but yes. She’s smart an’ good an’ better than ev’ryone but maybe Leg’las, and I’d ask her f’r help ’n a h’rtbeat.”

He chuckled. “You’re falling asleep.”

“No, ‘m not. ‘M j’st r’stin’ m’ eyes.”

“What about the guards?”

His tone was so afraid that she made the effort to turn and look at him, even if he couldn’t see her, although she slipped back down almost immediately. “’T the end ‘f th’ c’rridor. They w’n’t c’me in ’t’l m’rning. Y’ll w’ke m’ up b’f’re they c’tch me.”

“…How do you know?”

She smiled again as the world faded out and the feeling of his arms around her was the only thing left. “Tr’st y' m're th'n 'ny'ne, ‘c’rse. S’lly Th’r’n.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... *evil grin* whadja think? Live up to your expectations? Sorry it's late; this is why I have an alarm set to remind me to update.  
> 'Makalfumunul' means 'that which is cursed', which is the closest I could find to God-forsaken.  
> That's pretty much all I got, so... 'til Sunday, á bientôt!
> 
> (P.S., here's the translation of her sleep-talk, if it's hard to understand: "She’s smart and good and better than everyone but maybe Legolas, and I’d ask her for help in a heartbeat.", “No, I‘m not. I'm just resting my eyes.”, “At the end of the corridor. They won’t come in until morning. You’ll wake me up before they catch me.”, and “Trust you more than anyone, of course. Silly Thorin.”.)


	39. Tagertarem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escaping is always easier said than done.

Something was jostling Bella. She swatted at it, but her eyes flew open when Thorin hissed, “The guards are coming!” Stumbling, she rushed to the other side of the corridor and flattened herself against the wall just as the door opened.

The petty Elf she’d followed here in the first place swept in, sneering. The expression might have been elegant if Bella hadn’t seen Thranduil do a much better job of it a few days before. As she crept down the hall toward the door, she listened carefully. _“So, have you exhausted your vocabulary, or does thinking up insults tax you too severely?”_

Bella rolled her eyes. _Of course he’s been sassing them. Explains why they stay on the other side of a locked door_.

Thorin didn’t respond, and she looked back. The angle was too steep for her to see his face, but she saw his hands as he took the tray of food and threw it at the Elf. The Elf glowered at him _is he trying to be majestic? He ought to ask for some pointers; even Kíli can do better_ and turned toward Bella. Eyes wide, she hurried silently to the door, and barely got out before he did; with how much longer his legs were, it was a miracle she made it at all. _Giver, thank you_.

One of the guards smirked at him. _“Did the prisoner hurt your feelings?”_

 _“Go kiss an Orc. I just hope there’s going to be plenty of wine tonight. I’ll need it if I’m going to be on this Ilúvatar-cursed detail for long_.”

 _“There is, trust me, I saw the barrels myself. Galion’ll have his work cut out for him_.”

 _“Is he still in the wine-cellar? I thought he hated it_.”

 _“He does. Never stops complaining about it. He even swears that he started having nightmares about falling out the barrel-door, if you can believe it, and being swept downriver all the way to Esgaroth_.” 

They kept talking, but Bella didn’t hear a word. She couldn’t believe her luck. It took her a few minutes to remember the path to the cellar, but she crept off as soon as she did. She’d found it early on, and debated drugging the guards, but there hadn’t been a point without an exit, and even less of one if she couldn’t find Thorin. _But now, now I have Thorin, and now I have an exit, or will do in a few minutes._ She smiled viciously. _Such a shame I won’t get to switch out Thranduil’s drink with vinegar like I’d planned. His expression would have been fantastic_. Less than ten minutes later, she was in the cellar, and, when the wine-steward was called upstairs, quickly figured out how to open the door. _A ramp, balanced to tip at the slightest pressure, but with a latch to hold it in place until the lever is pulled. Clever. Wonder if a Dwarf came up with it_. 

As she stole out of the room, the wine-steward, Galion, was talking jovially to another Elf, who Bella recognized after a moment as Elros, keeper of the keys. A plan began to take shape, and a slow, feral smile came to her lips. She’d known about the celebrations for ages, the entire palace was busy with preparations, but never, in her wildest dreams, had expected it to be the lynchpin to their escape. 

 _Although I haven’t really been dreaming_. The entire time they’d been in the palace, her dreams had been faint at best, and absent at worst. Her sleep, though dreamless, was far from restful, and she often woke just as tired as when she’d laid down. Last night’s rest, with Thorin there, had been slightly better than usual, but still blank. She found herself thinking of her dreams several times over the course of the day, trying to remember the boy’s face. She knew that he had dark hair and had reminded her of Kíli, but everything else was a blur. It bothered her more than she’d expected, and she wished she could remember his eyes, at least.

Bella whiled away the hours by sneaking the Dwarven weapons and packs, one at a time, to a hidey-hole she’d found near the cellar, then by surreptitiously swapping out some of the bottles Galion set aside with much stronger stuff. She was lucky enough to be in the midst of that when someone called on Galion for the guards near Thorin’s cell to be sent some weak wine, as they wouldn’t be able to attend the feast. As such, she was able to ensure that they would drink well, and hopefully drink deep.

 

 _Are they— Yes!_ Galion, Elros, and another Elf, whose name she didn’t know, had been drinking for the better part of an hour, and were _finally_ unconscious. She snuck the ring of keys off of Elros’ belt, and wrapped her fingers tightly around it to keep the metal from jangling. The halls were almost entirely deserted as she ran through, with only the occasional guard or messenger who hadn’t been allowed to attend the party. The guards by Thorin’s door were still standing, but as she neared, Bella could see that they were just as insensible as the three in the cellar. She was easily able to open the door and slip inside without their noticing, and ran, beaming, to Thorin’s cell, not caring if she was noisy.

He was at the door when she reached it, and as soon as she unlocked it, he shoved it open and enfolded her in a tight _welcome_ embrace. She returned it eagerly, soaking in the warmth, and almost yanked him back _down into a kiss_ when he drew away. _Not now. Not yet_. “You’ve done it, then?”

He looked absurdly hopeful, and she fought the urge to press a kiss to his jaw, and smiled at him instead. “Yes. There’s a way out, but we have to be quick.” He nodded, and she took his hand to lead him down to the corridor, bidding him wait while she checked outside. “The tides have turned, haven’t they?”

She took his hand again, grinning at his smirk, and hushed him, but couldn’t help but whisper teasingly, “Now you know how I felt.” Carefully, slower than if she’d been alone, but faster than if the halls had been full of people, she led him to the rest of the Company, and opened the doors while he glowered them into silence. She thought they were probably just humoring him for the most part, though; he looked too happy to pull off his usual scowl. Once they were all free, she took Thorin’s hand again and the procession made their way deeper into the depths of the palace. She heard a few low grumbles, but those stopped when she uncovered the weapons and started handing them out, giving her bow and arrows to Nori for safekeeping. 

While they were checking the edges, she silently padded into the cellar and let loose a relived sigh when she saw that the three Elves were still drooling on the table. Boots scuffed on the stone behind her and she grabbed Thorin’s wrist to stop him before he collided with her. He stopped, and she felt his pulse racing to match her own. She swept her thumb in feather-light arcs across his skin. “Almost out.”

She turned to look up at him, and her heart jumped at the look in his eyes, so like when they talked the day after Fíli and Kíli adopted her. She swayed toward him involuntarily, then caught herself and pulled back, flushing, to lead him down the stairs. The others followed as quietly as they could, which wasn’t saying much. Still, the Elves didn’t so much as stir until after the Company was safely clustered around the barrels.

“Get into the barrels.” She had raised her voice just past a whisper in an effort to be heard, but the immediate grumbling wasn’t nearly as quiet. She let go of Thorin’s hand to flap both hands pointlessly at the Company, shushing them. “This is the only way, and it will work, but you must trust me, and hurry. The Elves will realize you’re gone any minute.” They ignored her, though Fíli and Kíli looked as though they were considering it, and Kítos just looked scared. Nori and Dori, predictably, were arguing twice as hard to make up for their sister’s silence. Bella turned to Thorin pleadingly, and took both his hands in hers. “Please, trust me.” 

He looked at her, somehow actually meeting her eyes, and nodded. “Do as she says.” While the others clambered in, he lifted one hand to her cheek. “There are no guards to see you here.” _But there are. You and my brothers have been guarding me from something or other for weeks_. 

She leaned into his hand, then stepped away, feeling colder than ever. “But if the Elves wake up, we’ll need an extra few seconds advantage.” For a heartbeat, standing on tiptoe, she carded her fingers through the hair at his temple, relishing in the softness, so unlike anything in the dungeons. “Please, go and get in.” As she moved away, toward the lever at the end of the room, his eyes followed her for an instant _no, he couldn’t have been, he must have been scanning the room or something_ before he turned away to majestically _is there any other way?_ climb into the last remaining barrel, at the front of the line. Before any of them could question where they were, she pulled the lever and winced at the colossal shout when they tumbled down the ramp.

She yanked the ring off and shoved it into her pocket as she ran forward, and slid off the ramp. For a brief instant, just after she registered the spikes of pain in her feet and just before hitting the water, she saw that Thorin had held the line in place a few yards ahead. As she rose, spluttering, to the surface, Nori grabbed her and pulled her to his barrel. She kept her head down, not wanting him to risk unbalancing because he was concerned about her, and heard Thorin call warmly, “Well done, Bella.” 

The barrels floated on, and fairly soon, Thorin shouted again, though she didn’t catch his words. A rushing sound grew louder, and the heads bobbing further down began to disappear. _Oh, Yavanna’s bloody toes, why didn’t I check the river?!_ The water around her accelerated, and she dug her fingers desperately into the rope around the barrel. Nori’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. They fell.

The impact jolted Nori’s arm off of her, and Bella nearly let go of the rope. When she came to the surface again, she heard Fíli shouting for her faintly, but didn’t have a chance to respond before the water swept over her head again. The only reason she wasn’t torn from the barrel was Nori’s bruisingly tight hold on her arm. They spun and bobbed and were tossed about in the rapids for what felt like hours, water nearly choking her every few seconds, and what little heat she’d regained was drained away by the waves until she was practically numb. 

A horn sounded, and she saw Elves standing atop a bridge a little ways downriver. Thorin yelled, and she saw barrels start to pile up underneath the bridge. The Elves drew their swords, shifting as one into battle stances. Bella felt her grip loosen as her breath stuttered. _I get us all out and it ends like this?_

A heartbeat later, an arrow thudded into one of the Elves, and an Orc leaned towards the Company and growled. Her vision seemed to flicker, and she could see the Orc-Camps for an instant before shaking her head and focusing on the present. The Elves fell swiftly as Orcs swarmed over the sides of the bridge, and some even went so far as to jump into the water, but were cut down by the closest Dwarves. Nori jerked her around the barrel, swearing under his breath, just before they collided with the rest of the Company. Her vision flickered again as she heard Bolg’s voice, “ **Slay them all!** ”, but again she shoved the memories aside.

An Orc jumped onto Gloin’s barrel, and Nori let go of her as it hauled Gloin up, ready to sink a blade into his chest. _You will NOT take them from me!_ She unsheathed Sting and plunged it into the Orc’s neck without a moment’s hesitation. More Orcs attacked, but none came close enough to Bella for her to kill. She heaved herself up, arms shaking, to perch on the edge of the barrel, and caught an odd expression on Thorin’s face for a blink before movement drew her attention away.

Kíli clambered up, jumping to the shore, and she followed before she had the chance to rethink it, clenching her jaw against the pain in her feet. Dwalin threw him a sword just as she reached him, and she stabbed the Orc attacking him in the back. She moved out of the way as Kíli kicked it into the water, and he nodded at her, wide-eyed. He moved toward the stairs to her right, and she followed closely, facing away from him, striking at any Orc who came close enough. It was different from fighting the Spiders. With them, she’d been able to dodge and move freely, but now she had to keep from either deserting or hurting Kíli, and her feet slowed her enough that she collected a few shallow cuts on her arms as they fought. An Orc with a spear rushed her, and a dagger flew into its chest, spinning it around, and she stabbed it near the base of its spine. Another Orc swung at Kíli from the wall, but he cut it down before she could. Kíli rushed toward a lever set into the wall. Bella heard a dull thud. He stopped. Fíli yelled, and she realized there was a black arrow in Kíli’s leg as he grabbed for the lever. He collapsed, groaning, and she fell to her knees at his side. 

He tried to grab the arrow, and she batted his hand away, looking him in the eye. “This will be agony.” She didn’t give him time to process her words before she took hold of the arrow and swung Sting at it with all her strength. It cut easily, near the wound, much more easily than she’d expected, and the momentum whirled her around just in time to see an Orc be shot down. Kíli jerked to the side at the same time she did, and another arrow grazed her shoulder as she saw Tauriel standing a ways away. 

The Elleth shot another Orc that had been approaching Bella and Kíli, and Bolg shouted, “ **Kill her! Kill the She-Elf!** ” _I can’t help you, I’m sorry, Tauriel_. Bella lurched to her feet and grabbed the lever, letting her own weight pull it down, and a scream was ripped from her throat as searing pain spread from her shoulder. Her legs buckled. Bolg yelled again, “ **After them!** ”, and she dragged herself to the edge just after Kíli did. Again, and worse than before, her vision flickered, going back and forth: seeing Kíli drop into an empty barrel to seeing Bolg raising his hand to strike her; Fíli staring up at her to Azog staring down; she heaved herself forward and crawled to her sobbing parents; she landed in the water and felt the knife begin to carve; someone grabbed her and she fought to get away from Urbikh; she was pulled into a barrel and thrown out the window; she met Tauriel’s eyes and called to the Grey One for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I'm taking the spotlight off of Kíli a little, but Bella refused to stay safe with the Dwarrow; she just had to follow her brother into the Middle-Earth equivalent of a firefight.   
> Eh. Oh well. Besides which, her actions will have consequences, and I hope you'll like them. :D Buuuut, ya gotta wait 'til next chapter to find out what they'll be. And where they'll be. And who they'll be. You'll see. ^u^
> 
> À bientôt!


	40. Zachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus update; yay!

An Orc leapt at Thorin from the shore. He struck it with an Orcish blade he’d taken and it fell into the water. The rapids tossed the barrels about, and Thorin saw Balin’s get swept to the forefront. Orcs  were shooting at them, but from what he could glimpse as the river spun him, Elves were cutting them down swiftly. Balin cried out as an Orc launched itself toward him; Thorin flung a hand-axe forward and pinned the Orc to the same tree-branch it had been perched on, and caught its sword as it fell. He twisted and flung it to Dwalin, who flung it to Nori. Another Orc fell just in front of him as one of the others struck it, and he grabbed its axe reflexively. It was too tight in the barrels to use their own weapons; looting the Orcs would have to do. The river plunged around a bend, and Thorin lost sight of the others for a moment. When he looked ahead, he saw a massive log over the water, Orc archers gathering atop it. 

“Cut the log!” Thorin sank the Orc-axe into the wood as he passed, hoping the Company would follow his lead if they couldn’t hear his words. There was a groaning crash a few seconds later, but he had no time to relish it. More Orcs attacked, and he struck at them automatically, half his attention on thoughts of Bella. _She killed that Orc easily, and didn't look afraid at all when she pulled herself up. Mahal, she was beautiful, and then jumped out with Kíli. And then he and Fíli cried out; she screamed. What happened to them? Mahal, let my sister-son survive, Yavanna, Eru, protect her_. 

He would have kept thinking of them, but was distracted when the Elf-prince surfed down an incline atop an Orc, then proceeded to dispatch the swine so efficiently that Thorin had no choice but to be impressed. 

A moment later he crossed the river by using the Company as stepping stones. 

Thorin scowled, but as an Orc raised its axe to attack the Elf while his back was turned, he threw the Orc-sword at it, skewering it before it could follow through. The Elf didn’t pause in his fighting, but a few seconds later, when the river spun Thorin around, he saw him standing on a hill, watching them.

The river calmed soon enough, and Thorin scanned the shore and the cliffs constantly. “Anything behind us?”

“Not that I can see.” Balin’s report wasn’t exactly encouraging. His eyes were even older than Thorin’s. Thorin twisted, counting heads. Kíli was paddling to shore, Fíli was being towed by Dori while Nori and Ori were climbing onto the rocks and pulling weapons out of their barrels. _Why is Dori helping him? He wasn't injured, was he?_

Bofur called, “I think we’ve outrun the Orcs!” _Always the optimist._

“Not for long. We’ve lost the current.” _And where’s Bella? Did she put the ring on again?_ He hadn’t noticed the night before, but when she had been leading him through the halls a few minutes ago, he’d realized that even though she was invisible, he could see her silhouette on whatever she was standing in front of, the colors more vibrant wherever she moved.

Thorin started to look for her, but Dwalin distracted him again. “Bombur’s half drowned!”

With a growl, Thorin ordered, “Make for the shore!” The Company behind him acknowledged him wearily. “Come on, let’s go!” As he moved to the shore, he scanned the Company again, feeling his gut clench. _Where’s Bella? Where_ — Fíli was being dragged out of the barrel, his arms around something. Thorin clawed his way onto the rocks, to his nephew’s side.

Fíli looked at him, eyes wide and terrified, Kíli sharing the expression next to him. “She won’t wake up.” Bella was in his arms, soaked to the skin, as they all were, but with her hair and clothes plastered to her, she looked smaller than ever, and impossibly pale, blood seeping sluggishly from raw skin on the soles of her feet, and from half a dozen cuts on her arms and shoulders, crimson against her skin. “She’s so cold, and she’s not moving, and she won’t wake up.” 

Her head lolled back as Thorin took her from Fíli’s arms, the two boys following her anxiously. _She’s practically weightless, even waterlogged as she is, and so thin_ … He had known she was gaunt, he had felt it last night, but it was so different to see it. Her face was hollow-cheeked, her collarbone jutting up, her shoulders and hips blade-sharp. He could feel her ribs as he had last night, so pronounced that even through the fabric he could have counted them. And she was freezing. She was ice in his arms, made worse by how intensely, as always, he could feel her. He held her tighter, shifting her so that one hand was free to cup her cheek, but she didn’t react at all. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe, the pain in his chest so intense that he was surprised he wasn’t actually bleeding.

The sound of blades being drawn around him had him clutching her to him even more tightly, and he looked up to see two Elves, the prince and a redhead, standing on top of a rock ten yards or so away. Their hands were up, all their weapons sheathed, but Thorin had to fight the urge to order his Company to attack them anyway. The redhead was looking at Kíli, but the prince’s eyes were fixed on Bella. Thorin growled, and leaned over her slightly, shielding her as much as he could without letting go of her.

The redhead spoke placatingly. “I saw when the child was injured—”

Fíli snarled, drawing his sword as he stood, “She’s not a child, she’s my sister, and if you take one step closer to her, I’ll—”

Kíli grabbed Fíli’s leg, looking up at the redhead. “Tauriel,” Thorin’s eyes shot to her. _The one Bella described_. “Please, help her.”

Fíli shook off Kíli’s hand with a betrayed expression. “She’s our sister! You would trust an Elf with her?!”

Thorin spoke before Kíli could respond. “Fíli, stand down.” _Bella said Tauriel was the best in the forest, said she would trust her_. Fíli started to protest, and Thorin barked, “ Stand down!” He glared up at Tauriel, every fiber of his being screaming at him not to trust her, to send her away, send all of them away and tend her himself. _I’m no healer_. “Can you help her?”

Her eyes flicked to Kíli, then to Bella. Her expression hardened. “Yes. But Legolas would be the better choice.” 

The prince grabbed her arm and hissed in Sindarin, _“You would offer escaped prisoners aid?”_

She fired back, _“I would offer an injured child aid, and gladly! But you are the better healer between us. Would you have that girl die because of your wounded dignity?”_ Thorin felt a momentary stab of pride, _right as always, my love_ , before dread replaced it. He looked down at Bella; the Elves were silent. Tenderly, he moved a strand of hair off her face, and raised his eyes to see the prince watching him with a conflicted expression. His eyes softened after a moment, and he nodded resolutely. 

Thorin pulled Bella closer, and glared at Tauriel. “Would you trust him with your life?” She looked taken aback at his threatening tone, but nodded immediately. “Would you trust him with your family? With the ones you love most in the world?” Her face blanked, though Thorin caught a glimmer of pain in her eyes, and he could have sworn her eyes flicked to Kíli for an instant. She nodded again. Thorin looked down at Bella, stomach churning. She was still frozen in his arms, and deathly pale. He clenched his jaw, and snapped his head up to scowl at the prince. “You will not take her to Mirkwood. You will not take her to your father. You will save her, and if she loses her life, you lose your head. Am I clear?” 

The prince almost looked confused, and the thought of how highly Bella had spoken of him was the only reason Thorin didn’t demand Tauriel treat her instead. “I cannot promise to save her, but I accept your terms, and I will treat her to the best of my ability.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “Then stop making speeches and help her.” The Elf moved to him swiftly, and Thorin had to force himself to hold Bella out to him. As he did, Fíli growled again, and Dwalin had to grab him. Tauriel moved to Kíli, and ignored his grimace as she examined his leg.

The prince’s voice pulled Thorin’s attention back to him. “This is more than just an injury. What else afflicts her?”

Thorin kept his words even with an effort, preferring clarity over speed. “She hasn’t eaten enough for two months. She hasn’t slept properly for the same amount of time. She spent a month in your poisonous Hell of a forest, and it wore on her sanity as well as her health.”

The prince scoffed, and Dwalin had to keep Fíli from attacking him; Kíli glared at him with a darker look than Thorin had ever seen on him, and a tone to match. “From the day she set foot in that Eru-condemned scourge, she suffered.” Tauriel’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Bella, then stared at the Elf.

The prince shook his head, but there was an uncertain note in his voice. “You exaggerate.”

The entire Company growled at that, and Thorin snarled, “You know nothing about the matter.” He closed his eyes against the memories of the forest, of holding her, listening to her pleas.

Ori whispered, behind him, sounding lost in memory. “The way she screamed…”

“And sobbed.” Bofur’s voice was hollow.

By constrast, Dwalin’s was iron. “None of us will ever be able to forget that sound.”

“And there is no doubt it was because of your forest.” The venom in Nori’s voice was surprising, and the Elf seemed unable to respond, dropping his wide eyes to Bella.

He shook his head a few seconds later. “This is a Morgul wound. I need athelas, and medical supplies.”

“I can help with that.” The new voice took them all by surprise, and the Company rushed to put themselves between the newcomer, a Man standing on a crest much as the Elves had, and Bella. He had a longbow slung over his shoulder, and moved with an ease that suggested he knew how to use it well. He regarded them steadily, and held himself with more dignity than most would when faced with ten armed and angry Dwarrow. _More dignity than I would expect from someone with a coat that worn, as well_.

Balin responded quickly. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean to offer my home and any supplies I can muster for your daughter.”

“And why should we trust you with her?” Thorin’s eyes widened; Balin, by ignoring the appellation, had adopted her just as Fíli and Kíli had. 

Thorin watched the Man carefully as he considered Balin’s question, and saw the pain in his face. “I have two daughters myself. I would not leave anyone’s to perish.”

Balin glanced at Thorin, who gave him a minuscule nod, then looked back at the Man. “Very well. We are in your debt.”

The Man held up a hand. “I need no debts, and I can do no favors. I am not well liked in Lake-Town, and the Master is completely untrustworthy. The Elves will have to be careful not to be seen, and I cannot risk bringing so many Dwarves in.” _No, I am_ _not_ _leaving her again_.

“We can pay. Handsomely.”

The Man’s eyes tightened, but he looked torn, not angry. “It would mean death for all of you if we were caught.”

“Then we won’t be caught.” Thorin held the Man’s eyes for a long moment, seeing the indecision raging there. 

An interminable heartbeat later, determination replaced the conflict, and the Man nodded. “On your own heads be it. I have a barge that I use to take the empty barrels to Lake-Town; the Dwarves can hide there. If the girl can last long enough, I can escort the three of you in later today or tonight.” He addressed the last to the Elves, and Thorin faced them.

The prince looked over Bella appraisingly, and glanced at Tauriel as she bound Kíli’s leg, before turning back to the Man. “She can spare half a day, no more, but we can use that time to gather the herbs we’ll need.”

Fíli roared, whirling to face the Elves, and, by extension, Thorin, “I’ll shave my beard before I leave my sister with—”

“FÍLI!” As his sister-son gaped, Thorin bent down to delicately touch his forehead to Bella’s, and whispered, “Forgive me, my love.” Feeling as though his arms were turning to stone, he gently handed her to the prince, and a fresh wave of pain spread through him at the sight of her, child-like in the Elf’s arms. _She shouldn’t look so fragile. She should look as strong as she really is; strong enough to survive Mirkwood, to fight Orcs. It’s not right_. He stood, and moved as though through molasses to face Fíli.

The blond’s eyes were glassy, his voice as raw as Thorin felt. “She needs us, Uncle. I can’t leave her, not again, not when she’s like this—” Thorin pulled him into a tight embrace, and after a heartbeat, the boy returned it, his anger draining away to leave only pain and grief in its place.

Thorin made no attempt to hide the matching pain in his low voice, although he held back the tears that threatened to spill. “I know. I want to stay with her as much as you do, but we can’t help her. They can. She trusts these Elves, she told me so herself. I hate this, believe me, I hate that we have to trust them, but I will not let my pride be the reason I lose her.” _The Orcs…_ Thorin lifted his head. “Dwalin. You’ll stay behind with her.” Kíli, Fíli, and both Elves all cried out at that. With difficulty, Thorin swallowed his automatic growl and modulated his tone. “The two of you Elves may be warriors, but there are Orcs in these woods. I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you to hold off all of them while protecting her. Fíli, you’re too emotional. Kíli, you’re wounded. I won’t have you protect your sister at the cost of your own life.” 

Fíli looked more betrayed than ever, and moved away from Thorin, to Kíli. Dwalin came over to Thorin to mutter, “You’d abandon me to the leaf-eaters?”

Heart in his throat, Thorin looked him in the eye. “You’re the only one here I trust to protect her without losing your head.” Dwalin nodded solemnly. He glanced behind Thorin, and for an instant there was pain in his eyes to match the Durins’, but he turned away and moved to the Elves before Thorin could see what he’d been looking at.

The Man took a step toward the Elves, but stopped when Fíli glared at him. “If there are Orcs nearby, staying here would be suicide. Go west around the lakeshore. There’s an outcropping of rock over the water. I’ll meet you there as soon as I’m able.” Thorin’s eyes lingered on Bella as the Man led the Company to his boat. _Hold on, Lukhdelê. Mahal, Yavanna, please, Eru, keep her safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to my only nephew so far! Granted, four-year-olds don't typically read fan fiction, but still.  
> I specify that they're using Orcish weapons because seriously, have you ever noticed how many weapons they use once and just completely abandon? And this is in canon, where there's no indication that Bilbo recovered any weapons for them in the first place, so they had to be using borrowed ones.  
> And yeah, I like Legolas and Tauriel too much to let them just waste away off-screen (page, whatever) for the entire story. Besides, Bella's the size of an eight(ish)-year-old, completely scrawny at the moment, and Tauriel's never seen a Hobbit before. You really think her first thought *isn't* going to be 'tiny precious child'?  
> And btw, 'Lukhdelê' means 'my light of all lights'.  
> À bientôt!


	41. Ze'zachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now your regularly scheduled update.

Thorin stared at Gloin. His face held no expression. He couldn’t find the energy to scowl. All of his thoughts were on Bella, whether she was safe, whether she needed him, and Gloin’s pointless denial was barely more than an annoyance. Oin stood, and Thorin followed his Company’s gaze to Erebor, silhouetted through the clouds. The image of Bella standing in its halls, dressed as his Queen, returned, and Thorin flinched at the resulting pain.

Gloin’s words didn’t register, but Thorin saw him press the coin purse into Balin’s hands. The Man stormed over to them and held his hand out for the money, his voice insistent. “The money, quick. Give it to me.” Raising his eyes, Thorin realized there was panic in the Man’s face. “There are guards ahead.”

Balin began to refuse, but Thorin cut him off. “Balin.” _What does the money matter?_ He jerked his head toward the Man, and Balin handed over the coins. The Man ordered them into the barrels, and disembarked when the boat stopped. Ori narrated his actions, to the general disgust of the Company, but Thorin didn’t react. He couldn’t let himself doubt the Man. If he did, if the Man was as villainous as he seemed, that meant that Thorin had entrusted the lives of his best friend and his One to the worst people imaginable, and that was not acceptable. _He’ll keep his word. He has to. He has to_. 

Of all the things Thorin expected to happen, being covered in fish was not among them. The Company was grumbling, several sounding as if they were struggling not to vomit, and there was a dull thunk. “Quiet!” Thorin had to strain to hear Bard through the wood, but he was still audible. “We’re approaching the toll gate.”

Another voice called, “Halt! Goods inspection!” Whoever it was, he sounded almost cheerful, and Thorin held himself perfectly still to keep from jumping out and throttling him. “Papers, please! Oh, it’s you, Bard.”

“Morning, Percy.” The Man, Bard, hid his fear admirably, but Thorin could hear the faintest strained tone in his voice.

“Anything to declare?”

“Nothing, but that I am cold and tired, and ready for home.” Bard moved along the deck as he spoke.

“You and me both.” Footsteps retreated. It was impossible to tell whether it was Bard or Percy leaving until the second man spoke again, his voice a tiny bit fainter than it had been. “There we are, all in order—”

“Not… so… fast.” The new voice was grating; Thorin stiffened as the Man continued. “‘Consignment of empty barrels from the woodland realm’. Only…” Boots stamped closer. “They’re not empty, are they, Bard?” His voice grew louder, and Thorin could almost hear the slime dripping from the words. “If I recall correctly, you’re licensed as a bargeman, not…” There was a pause. _Are we discovered?_ “…A fisherman.” Thorin relaxed fractionally.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Wrong. It’s the Master’s business, which makes it my business.”

“Oh, come on, Alfrid, have a heart; people need to eat!”

“These fish are illegal.” A splash. “Empty the barrels over the side.” Thorin’s eyes shot open.

“You heard him, in the canal.” At least two sets of footsteps accompanied the newest voice, thumping onto the deck. “Come on, get a move on.” Thorin gripped the hilt of Orcrist, ready to attack as soon as his Dwarrow called for it.

“Folk in this town are struggling. Times are hard. Food is scarce.” _He sounds… like Bella when she was talking to the Trolls_.

“That’s not my problem.”

“And when the people hear the Master is dumping fish back in the lake… when the rioting starts… will it be your problem then?” _Oh, you’re going to love him, Lukhdelê_. A stab of pain pierced Thorin as he remembered that she might not get the chance.

Splashes came from the other side of the boat, and Thorin held his breath, listening. “…Stop.” The splashing ceased, and Thorin relaxed. Alfrid sounded bitter, but it only gave his words weight to match the thuds of multiple men leaving the deck. “Ever the people’s champion, eh, Bard? Protector of the common folk. You might have their favor now, bargeman, but it won’t last.” 

Another set of footsteps retreated, and Percy called, “Raise the gate!”

As the boat began to move again, Alfrid threw out one last threat. “The Master has his eye on you. You'd do well to remember: we know where you live.”

Bard immediately retorted, sounding very blasé for being threatened, “It's a small town, Alfrid. Everyone knows where everyone lives.” A few minutes passed in tense silence, but eventually the boat stopped again, and Thorin had to keep himself from jumping out when he heard one of the barrels tip over. Another followed quickly, and as none of the Company were fighting back, they obviously weren't discovered. Thorin pushed to his feet, shaking off fish, and saw the rest of his Dwarrow doing the same. 

As they climbed out of the barrels, Bard went to a Man standing nearby and pressed a coin into his hand. “You didn’t see them, they were never here.” As Thorin led the Company onto the dock, Bard moved to leave, then turned back to the Man. “The fish you can have for nothing.” He pushed his way purposefully through the Dwarrow, calling back, “Stay close. Follow me.” The Company did as he said, any grumbles quelled by a glare from Thorin or one of his nephews, and the Man led them into a market. It was typical for Men, in Thorin’s experience, though it was among the poorer he’d seen. “Keep your heads down and keep moving.” The statement was so unnecessary that Thorin automatically started to turn, to catch Bella’s sarcastic expression, or to share a smirk with her if she decided to vocalize the sentiment. His heart seemed to stop for a moment as he stopped himself, remembering her absence. “Quickly now.”

“Halt!” The distant voice was so unexpected that Thorin obeyed for an instant as he looked, but the sight of the obvious soldier pointing at them sent a jolt of adrenaline through him.

Turning to those Dwarrow behind him, he hissed, “Come on, move!”

“In the name of the Master of Lake-Town, I said halt!” Ignoring the soldier, Thorin rushed through the market, aiming for the far edge. _Hopefully there’ll be a way out from there_. Another soldier waited past the buildings, although he looked surprised to see them.

He yelled, but Thorin was already retreating. “Get back!” With the Company clustered as they were, escape was impossible. _It’ll be a fight, then._ They had no need of orders. They were warriors, all of them, _now, anyway_ , and Thorin only had to see Balin grab an oar to know his plan. Grabbing the closest object, Thorin waited for a soldier to come near, and after Balin sent the soldier to his knees, Thorin swiftly knocked him out. The rest of the Company dealt with the soldiers with similar ease. _And these are supposed to protect the town?_

Another soldier called out, this one with the arrogance of command. “What’s going on here?” _He’ll attack if he sees us_. Thorin glanced at Balin, and the older Dwarf nodded at him. Some of the agitation jittering along Thorin’s nerves calmed slightly. _We can handle them._ “Stay where you are; nobody leaves.” 

Just at the edge of Thorin’s vision, a Man stopped, and Bard walked out to meet him. “Braga. Sowry.” _Is he in le— no, he can’t be. He’s going to send them away. He has to_.

“You.” The Man Thorin had seen, Braga, didn’t sound like he was meeting a colleague. “What are you up to, Bard?” His hostile tone set Thorin at ease; he’d heard Dwalin use that tone more than once when addressing Nori or his ilk. _He’s no friend of Bard’s, and no friend of ours._

_…_

_How did I start collecting troublemakers?_

“Me? Nothing. I’m looking for nothing.” One of the soldiers stirred, and a woman standing near him dropped a vase on his head. Thorin quirked an eyebrow. _For someone who said he’s not well-liked in this town, he has quite a few allies_. Braga pushed past Bard, and several more men and women placed baskets and bundles of plants on or near the fallen soldiers, hiding them efficiently from Braga’s view. _How many times have they done this?_ Bard spoke up a moment later, distracting the soldier. “Hey, Braga. Your wife would look lovely in this.” Thorin risked leaning out a fraction to see that Bard was holding up a woman’s undershirt.

“What do you know of my wife?” Braga sounded honestly confused. _Really, you can’t even tell when you’re being insulted? A Dwarf would have split Bard’s skull open by now_.

“I know her as well as any man in this town.” Braga seemed to finally catch on, and he grabbed the shirt, pushing past Bard without another word. The rest of the soldiers followed him, and the Company continued.

“Da!” A young Man, boy, really, came around a corner to whisper to Bard, “Our house, it’s being watched.” Thorin brought the Company to a halt. _We will fight if need be, but stealth would seem to be preferable_. Pulse thrumming in his ears, he waited until Bard spelled out a plan before deciding. But the decision didn’t take long. As distasteful as the plan was, it was the only hope they had for remaining undetected, and to ensure Bard could safely bring in Bella, Dwalin, and the Elves.

 

Soon enough, the twelve of them were in Bard’s house, waiting for him to return with the others. He had introduced his children before he left, and warned Thorin not to act against them. The Company had grumbled at the perceived insult, but Thorin had stilled them and nodded, giving Bard his word. _I would do no differently in his place_. The eldest, Sigrid, had gone with her father. The boy, Bain, had handed out dry clothes to the Dwarrow while his sister kept watch outside. Thorin had stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the girl, and had barely heard Bard introduce her as Tilda. She was a child, that was true, but for an instant, her height had fooled Thorin into thinking she was a Hobbit. Fíli and Kíli had thought the same, he knew; the good humor they’d gained after the scuffle in the market had entirely drained away, and they had been silent since seeing her.

Thorin found himself comparing her to Bella, berating himself for it all the while; it only served to make him miss her more. Aside from the age gap and the obvious differences that entailed, the girl had none of Bella's shadows, and all of her light; her smiles were as bright, but not nearly as mischievous. But watching Tilda, Thorin could only think of his Lukhdel. She’d been as happy as this child, once. He’d seen her in his Ralenns, as bright as she ever was, but even there, she’d had a pragmatism, an awareness of the reality of the world, that Tilda did not. Several of his dreams, while he was in the dungeons, had been of the Fell Winter. He’d seen how she faced the blizzards with open eyes while the other children were blind to the dangers. When the wolves had come, Bella and her parents had been traveling back from visiting her Took relations, had been caught in the open. Her father had been the only one to panic; Bella and her namesake had steeled themselves and pulled him along. Even then, she had been strong. Thorin couldn’t understand how he’d ever thought she was anything less.

It was an hour before Bard and Sigrid returned and Thorin shot to his feet, as did Fíli and Kíli. Sigrid ran up the stairs, pushing past Fíli while Bard kept a surreptitious watch at the door. Thorin turned to watch the young woman; she came down after a moment and began to spread blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the hearth. Glancing at Fíli, Thorin jerked his head toward her. His nephew was practically vibrating in his worry. _It'll do him good to use some of that energy_. Fíli reluctantly nodded and moved to help her. Although she looked wary, she accepted his assistance, some of the fear leaving her eyes. Thorin frowned. _Why is she afraid? She was just helping with the Elves, and Bel_ — 

His blood chilled. Faintly, he realized he'd grabbed onto the table, and was gripping it hard enough to make the wood creak. _No, no, she's in the same condition as she was earlier, Sigrid just hasn't seen anyone that sick before. Bella's fine. She'll be fine. Eru, let her be fine_. Bard called Bain over, and spoke quietly to him, motioning to the ceiling. Bain nodded and ran upstairs. Thorin forced himself his attention back to his surroundings. _I'll be no help to her if I don't realize she needs it_.

Footsteps preceded the boy's descent, and Thorin, with his Company, turned to face him. Instead of Bain, the Elf-prince came into the room, cradling Bella against his chest as though she were a child. Thorin fought back his immediate urge to take her from him, and focused on his words. “...ortar and pestle, if you have them. Where— ah, there.” He edged past the Company to lay her on the 'bed' Sigrid had prepared. As he did, Thorin moved to her, and didn't really see her until after the Elf had stood and gone to the table to start mixing something. 

All Thorin could focus on was Bella. She was as pale as before, and as soaked through, but he realized it was with sweat, not river-water. He laid a hand on her brow and swore. “She's burning up!” Her skin was clammy, but it was only a hair cooler than his own; he'd spent too much time holding her, worrying about how cold she was only for her to insist that she was a perfectly acceptable temperature for a Hobbit, not to know that this was concerning at best, and dangerous at worst.

Tauriel's head shot up from her inspection of Kíli's leg. “I'd hardly call that burning up.” Despite her words, she looked concerned.

Kíli glanced at Bella, eyes wide, then looked back at the Elf. “How warm is she?”

“Barely more than I am.” He swore, as well; she looked shocked at his vocabulary. He started to stand, but Tauriel stopped him. In the same moment, Fíli came over to her and gently took hold of one side of the blanket, meeting Thorin's eyes. Taking hold of the other side, Thorin nodded, and the two of them smoothly lifted her and carried her to the other side of the room, by the window. Balin asked for ice, behind them, but Thorin was distracted by a hand on his shoulder. 

Dwalin stood behind him, expression tight and remorseful. “I should have noticed, Thorin. You sent me to protect her.”

Thorin shook his head. “I sent you to protect her from Orcs, not infection. There's nothing you could have done.” His voice was thick with the fear he was hiding, or perhaps it was tears. He felt both, and hid them in equal measure. He glanced at the Elves where they were mixing some sort of poultice, and realized they would need to apply it to her wound. “Oin, Fíli, get her shirt off.” He stood and moved with Dwalin to the other side of the room. Fíli just stared after him until Oin reached him and began to bark orders. Most of the Company clustered on the far side of the room, but Thorin moved to Kíli's side, both of them hesitant to look at her until they were sure she was decent, but desperate to see her for themselves. 

After a few moments, Thorin glanced over to see that Fíli was lacing her waistcoat back up over her underthings to preserve her modesty, but the vest didn't cover any of her scars. Which, Kíli was visibly shocked to see, included old, raised claw-marks on her upper arms and shoulders. She hadn't spoken of those in Mirkwood, or during any of her nightmares. Thorin had known for weeks. His Ralenns had included too many memories to count of wargs swiping at her when she got too close, and once when she was escaping. The later memories had included those scars, but his heart still twisted to see them. 

The prince turned around, holding a bowl of something, and froze. He stared at the scars for a few precious seconds before Thorin's temper snapped. “Are you going to help her or not, Hell-spawn?!?” The words earned Thorin a black glare, but the Elf continued toward Bella and knelt at her side, beginning to chant something, and used his fingers to apply the poultice. Bella screamed, the way she had on the cliff, and in an instant Thorin was behind her, one arm around her waist holding her still, the other hand on her wrists, keeping her arms from thrashing while the prince worked. 

From his position he could do nothing about her feet, and he could see as Fíli stepped toward her. Just then, Tauriel began to chant as well, rubbing a plant between her hands, and Dwalin pushed him out of the way. “Your brother needs you.” Dwalin grabbed Bella's ankles and she redoubled her efforts to escape.

“ **No, don't— please, let me go, let me go!** ” She was sobbing, and Thorin pulled her closer to him, remembering that first night in Mirkwood. He couldn't embrace her as he did then, but he could talk to her. Kíli screamed, Fíli and Dori holding him down.

Thorin kept his voice even as he spoke, hoping that would be enough to snap her out of it. “Bella, you're dreaming. You're out of the Camps, you're in Lake-Town, we're all—”

“Thorin?!?” She sounded confused, but screamed again a moment later. “No, leave him, Iestyn, you can't—” The prince sat back, eyes huge as he watched her writhe. Kíli's screams stopped a moment later.

The Elf looked to Thorin and shook his head in frantic bewilderment. “The Morgul taint is gone; she shouldn't still be in pain.” 

Thorin glared at him. “She isn't. She's dreaming.” The prince's eyes widened even further; Thorin nodded for Dwalin to release her feet, and turned her to face him, to hold her as he had in Mirkwood. 

She latched onto him, panicked, fevered eyes fixed on the Elf's and seeing someone completely different, her ears putting her terror on display as much as her voice was. “Iestyn, let him go, Azog wants him, he'll punish you even more, you can keep me, just let Thorin go!” Both Elves' eyes had shot to her when she mentioned the Defiler, and Thorin saw that the entire room was watching the two of them as she finished.

He rubbed her back gently, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. “Iestyn is gone, Bella.”

She whipped around to face him so quickly that she nearly hit him, and she shook her head frantically. “No, he pretends and he leaves and he brings back more knives, he heats them, but he doesn't use them, not once Azog misses me.” Tears streaked down her cheeks, cutting through the sweat still coating her, and Thorin leaned his head against hers, holding back tears himself. “Azog knows I'm gone, he's going to burn me and Iestyn's just going to watch, he's going to watch and wait and leave me and then the Orcs come and kill...” She faltered, eyes clearing a fraction. “The Orcs come and kill Iestyn and cut me down and take me t' Azog, an'...” Her eyes were even clearer now, but she was fading quickly. “And Azog laughs an' tells me t' get back t' w'rk an' I h've t' feed th' w'rgs n’w 'n' they—” She swayed, but didn't release her grip on Thorin. Slowly, he lowered her down to the blankets. She wrenched herself up suddenly. “Th'rin, don' go in th' clear'ng.” Thorin's eyebrows shot up as he eased her back down. This was the most she'd ever woken without actually waking up. “Don' go, th' Elves'll g't y', keep y' 'l'ne f'r weeks...” 

Thorin smiled softly and smoothed her damp hair off of her forehead. “But if I don't go in the clearing, I'll get caught with the rest of the Company.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, but she still smiled drowsily at him. “D'n' w'rry, th' sp'd'rs'll g't y', b't I'll f'gh' 'em 'ff, 'n' I'll s've y' fr'm th'Elves 'n' th'Orcs 'n' th...”

Her breath slowed into true sleep, and Thorin kissed her softly on the forehead. “I know you will, my love.” He drew back a few inches, just enough to look at her properly, and absentmindedly cupped her cheek. She smiled and leaned into his hand faintly, and he smiled to match hers. _I missed you, Lukhdelê_. He detached her hands from his collar easily, and laid them on her stomach, holding onto them for a heartbeat longer than he knew he should. He stood and turned to see most of the room staring at him. The Company was glancing sympathetically at him, but largely focused on Kíli, while the Elves, Sigrid, and Bard were glaring at him. Altogether, it was reminiscent of the Carrock, and might have gone similarly had Bain and Tilda not come running up the stairs.

Tilda threw her arms around Bard's legs while Bain stopped just in front of him. “Da, there's soldiers coming, and people are saying we killed someone!” _Of course they are; in a town this small, the only wonder is that no one came sooner_. 

Bard's jaw clenched. “Sigrid, get a blanket, cover the Halfling. Tilda, I need you to stay by her, just sit next to her and stay quiet. Bain, hide the others and come right back.” He looked at the Company, narrowed eyes lingering on Thorin. “Go upstairs, stay there, stay quiet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Morgul taint/poisoning is not fun. I know Kíli didn't get sick nearly as fast as this, but remember, Bella's half his size (or at least his mass), skin-and-bones, and she would have gotten sick from being in the river anyway. Her recovery is going to be... yeah.  
> Sorry for basically giving a blow-by-blow of the chase scene, but in my defense, I've read maybe one fic on this site that does.   
> So, notes. I can't find a height for either Tilda or the girl who plays her, but I'm going to use artistic license to say she's a hair taller than Bella, so 3'11.5" or 4'0". But obviously, a ten-year-old and a twenty-six-year-old (roughly) are not going to have the same proportions or shape, so yeah, the Company is super weirded out. According to fanon, Dwarves run hotter than the other races, but people don't generally talk about the others, so I made up some numbers. (I know nothing about medicine, so if these numbers are completely impossible, just remember that this is fantasy.) Human average temperature is still 98.6, but Dwarrow run around 101, Elves are around 95, and Hobbits (when they're healthy) hover around 90 degrees Fahrenheit. (Celsius: 37, 38.33, 35, 32.22) Right now, Bella's around 97 degrees, which would be about 105 for a human. (vry srs bsnss) And yeah, it's a little convenient that the guards only show up after everything calms down, but oh well.  
> À bientôt!


	42. Nu'zachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Semi-interlude. Enjoy.

Bard glanced over the room. _Bain is back, good. Sigrid is cleaning the stairs, good. The Halfling is covered up to her chin and the cloth on her forehead hides her ears, good. Tilda's next to the Halfling and looking even healthier in comparison, good. Time to start_. As if on cue, a harsh knock came at the door, accompanied by a command, “Master's Guards, open up!”

Deliberately, Bard unclenched his jaw and put on a harried expression, opening the door and standing aside as Guards poured in. He closed the door after the last of them and stepped to the leader by the Halfling. Tilda was staring up at the man nervously, and Bard let some of his anger bleed into his expression and voice. “If you have something to say, say it, Sowry. You're scaring my daughter.”

Sowry turned to him and gestured to the Halfling. “Since when do you have four children, Bard?”

Shaking his head, Bard put concern into his tone. “She's not mine. I found her on the shoreline, half-starved and raving. I couldn't leave a child out there.” _Or I thought she was a child, anyway. Her curves are hard to ignore once she starts moving_. “She just fell asleep a minute ago, so I'll ask you not to wake her.”

“She was screaming like a stuck pig.” _Thank you so much for teaching my daughter_ _that_ _turn of phrase, Sowry_.

“She was delirious. Look at her.” The Halfling chose that moment to smile slightly in her sleep. “Does she look like she doesn't want to be here?” Sowry stared at her, expression conflicted. _He has a daughter, too, doesn't he? And a nephew who was sick a few years ago, I think_.

Sowry shook his head slowly, and started to turn away, but stopped. “There was a man screaming, as well. Was that you?”

“Do you see any other men here? And really, 'screaming'?” Bard rubbed a random spot on his side. “She's strong for a little one, but I wouldn't have called one surprised shout a scream.” _Come on, fall for it, take the bait_.

Sowry stared at him for a long moment, and Bard kept his expression tired as he raised an eyebrow. Slowly, Sowry nodded. “There's nothing to see here. Move out!”

Bard watched them leave, but signaled Bain to wait; he looked out the window and watched the Guards go even further away, only then nodding to his son to bring down the others from upstairs. The Dwarves came down first as Sigrid moved the cleaning supplies out of the way, the youngest, injured one helped by the blond and the dark one. _That's right, the blond called the young one his brother, and the elder his uncle_. Bard remembered the way the 'uncle' had held the Halfling and scowled, watching him as the room slowly filled back up. Her words came back to him, and his scowl deepened. _That didn't sound like a dream. That sounded like memories, especially with all her scars_. He knew it was ridiculous to feel so protective of her, but she was Tilda's size, looked Sigrid's age, and had his wife's coloring. Even after seeing her muscles, seeing how the dark Dwarf, clearly much older than her, and battle-hardened to boot, had struggled to keep her still as she fought, and even knowing that she was a stranger, he couldn't help the urge to take care of her. He hadn't been able to when he saw her the first time, and he couldn't now that he saw the older Dwarf glancing at her every few seconds, hands twitching as though he was barely keeping himself from fondling her. Bard's eyes narrowed at him. _I think it's time he explained a few things_.

 

“Why did you all lie to me?” Legolas turned from his surveillance of the Halfling to see the Man, _Bard_ , looming over Oakenshield.

The would-be King frowned up at him. “I don't recall lying about anyth—”

“I was given to understand that the girl was related to you, through your nephews.” Legolas straightened, listening intently. When Oakenshield only sighed, Bard crossed his arms. “Do you deny that they called her 'sister', or that the old one called her 'daughter'?”

“She isn't.” The white-haired Dwarf moved to stand beside Oakenshield. “At least she isn't yet.” _What?_ Legolas's confusion was mirrored on Bard's face. Tauriel moved to stand beside Legolas, and he saw her looking at the youngest Dwarf out of the corner of his eyes as the old Dwarf explained. “If Dwarrow so choose, we can take in those not related to us, adopt them, if you will. Family is highly important to us, but we don't limit it to mean only those linked to us by blood as others do. When I claimed her as my daughter earlier today, it was because she is as dear to me as any daughter I might have had.”

“And as dear to us as a sister by blood.” The young Dwarf was looking back at Tauriel in a way that made Legolas unconsciously straighten a little taller, glaring at him. “Fíli and I see Bella as our baby sister, but we're the only ones to adopt her so far. Balin will have to wait until she wakes up to make it official.”

The child chimed in from her spot next to the Halfling, “Will that make mister Balin your Da, too?”

The blond smiled at her. “No, Balin won't be our father, just like Thorin isn't her Uncle.” Legolas glanced at Bard. _Was that why he was angry? It was obvious from the start that Oakenshield had feelings for her, alien as they might be_. Legolas stared at the Halfling while Bard continued his interrogation. There was something... familiar about her. Something from centuries ago.

When Tauriel had told him there was a child with the Dwarves, he'd been ready to escort the Orc prisoner back to the Greenwood and let a few Guards deal with the Dwarves. But Tauriel had insisted, and he'd given in. _I should have dragged her back_. He winced. _But then the Halfling would have died. She may have helped the Dwarves escape, but she's young. She likely didn't know what she was doing_. When they caught up to the escapees, he had thought she was a child, much as Tauriel and the Men had, and had first wanted to simply take them all back to the Greenwood and treat her there. He'd almost been able to hear his father's voice, telling him to do just that, but Tauriel had spoken over it. She was the only person he'd ever told of his reservations about some of his father's stances, and she'd accused him of sharing them, of valuing his pride more than his morals. She'd been right. 

The vehemence that the Dwarves displayed in their defense of the Halfling had shocked him, especially Oakenshield's. The Thror-spawn had shown almost no emotion the entire time he was in the dungeons, but on the riverbank he'd been almost as demonstrative as his nephew. It jarred Legolas. He'd always thought, as his father did, of Dwarves as greedy, insular goldmongers, but here they were, clearly terrified of losing this girl who wasn't even of their race. And now, telling Bard and his family that they saw her as a sister, a daughter, and however Oakenshield saw her. _Not as family, that much is certain_. _And they aren't married, otherwise he would have stayed with her himself rather than sending the bald one. If they were betrothed, he probably would have said as much to Bard, at least. But the way she clung to him_...

 _And who is Iestyn? Why did she look at me while she was addressing him? How is she connected to Az— Well, no, that much is obvious_. Legolas couldn't read the top word scarred over her heart, but 'Azog' was perfectly legible. With the way she'd spoken in her dream combined with the scars, it seemed likely that she'd been enslaved to him for some time. _But how long? And why is she so famili_ —

She turned her head just enough to reveal her oddly expressive ears again, frowning in her sleep, and made a slight noise, barely audible in the busy room. Oakenshield spun to look at her as though she'd shouted, and knelt by her side, touching her lower arm through the blanket. Her frown melted away as his intensified, and he glared at Legolas. “She has a fever. Help her.” With an effort, Legolas reminded himself that he'd promised to do his best to heal her. _Even if her associates are distasteful, rude, and hostile beyond reason._

 

As Legolas moved to Bella, Tauriel nodded to Fíli and addressed his brother. “Your leg needs binding.”

Fíli started to protest, but Kíli immediately nodded, smiling at her gratefully. “Thank you, Tauriel.” She and Fíli helped him onto the table to make it a little easier for her to inspect the wound, Fíli glaring at her all the while. He almost wished that he could hate her as much as he had earlier, but after seeing the change in Kíli after she helped him, and now that Fíli's fear for his siblings wasn't feeding his anger, he couldn't. He still didn't trust her, not half as far as he could throw her, but she was a competent healer. Even Oin couldn't deny that. Although he had another reason for being distracted.

His eyes tried to track toward Sigrid again, but he fixed them on Kíli's wound. He'd felt odd since helping her with the bed, since she'd spoken to him, actually. Almost lik— _No, no, I'm just worried. I'm grateful to her for helping Bella, that's all_. Glancing up, he realized that the light of the sunset through the window gave Sigrid an auburn halo. He shook his head and refocused on Kíli's wound, only to realize his brother was smiling dopily at the Elf. He looked determinedly toward Bella and saw that his Uncle was giving her the same sort of look. Groaning, he stalked toward Ori and started a conversation.

Two hours later, he was still trying to avoid Sigrid, and, by and large, not succeeding. He'd resorted to sitting on the stairs at the rear of the house, watching the water. He could still hear her, though, and every quiet word sent chills down his spine. Kíli plonked down next to him, frowning. “Why aren't you mad at me?”

Fíli turned back to the water. “Should I be?”

“You tell me. You've been in a foul mood since Tauriel showed up.” Fíli couldn't hold back a wince at the name, and Kíli tilted his head. “Is it because of her?” His voice was hushed, hurt lacing the words.

Fíli huffed. “No.” Kíli raised an eyebrow. “Why so defensive of her?” Kíli turned away, but not before Fíli saw the blush staining his brother's cheeks. _There's no getting away from this, is there?_ He sighed and answered his own question. “Because she's your One.” 

Kíli whirled around to face him, sputtering, “But, I— How did, I was—”

Fíli snorted. “You've been mooning over her since she fixed your leg. The same way Thorin does over Bella.” His mood and voice fell on the latter sentence.

Kíli frowned at him again, blush fading. “So why aren't you mad? You should be more mad that my One is a leaf-eater, not less.” Fíli clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and leaned back to recline on the stairs. Sigrid spoke again, the words indistinct, but sending an irrepressible shiver through Fíli regardless. His scowl intensified as Kíli spluttered. It was several seconds before he stopped, and then, annoyingly, started laughing.

“It's not funny.”

“Oh, even you have to admit it's a little funny, Fíli; all three heirs of Durin, bonded to non-Dwarrow?”

Fíli sat up to glare at his brother. “And how much time will I have with her? Is that funny?” Kíli's smile died. Fíli's voice cracked as he continued. “Even if the legend about Yavanna's gift is true, it's still likely that Uncle will only have another sixty years with Bella, if that. I'll be lucky to have that much. And Tauriel will still be young when you're as old as Balin.” Kíli's eyes were shining in the moonlight, and Fíli was sure that his were, as well. “It's not funny.” He stared out at the water, blinking away tears, and knew Kíli was doing the same beside him.

 

There were voices coming from the stairs, but Tilda didn't stop to listen. She wanted to get a drink before her Da sent her to bed. Really, she was supposed to be in bed already, but with everyone so distracted by the Dwarves, no one had noticed when she snuck out of her room. She did have to hide, though, when Sigrid went upstairs with the others. She poked her head out and smiled. It was just the girl, Bella, and the sad Dwarf in the room. She liked him. She'd seen her Da glaring at him earlier, but he always smiled at Bella when no one was looking, and he'd helped her when she was scared. Tilda’d been scared, too, when Bella screamed, but when she was asleep, she looked so young that Tilda couldn’t be scared anymore. Tilda'd been sent out of the room with Bain right after Bella started screaming, but she'd seen how the Dwarf held Bella. And then, the whole night, whenever Bella looked unhappy, he would hold her hand or touch her arm and she'd smile again. _He must love her very much. I wish I had someone to help with my nightmares like that_.

She hid behind the table; the sad Dwarf was getting a drink, too. There was a little noise, and Tilda turned to look under the table; Bella was moving around, shaking the blanket off, and muttering something too quietly for Tilda to hear. The sad Dwarf went over to her, but she sat up before he got there, and got a little louder. “…Thorin, have to find Thorin. Hav—”

The sad Dwarf took her hands and knelt across from her; they were parallel to Tilda, and she could see that Bella was scared again, and he was trying to smile at her, but he still looked sad. “I'm here, Bella.”

Bella shook her head, eyes huge. Tilda leaned a little closer; she hadn't been able to see her eyes earlier, and hadn't expected them to be so pretty. _But if he's Thorin, then why is she scared?_ “No, he's alone, and I can't leave him, I can't leave him here, but I can't find him—”

“No, Bella, I'm— Thorin is safe.” She calmed down a little, looking at him, and didn't seem to notice how worried he was.

“He's safe?” _What's he doing?_ Thorin tipped forward and gently leaned his forehead against hers. _Is he going to kiss her?_

“He's with the Company. They're all safe.” Bella closed her eyes and sighed, smiling. Thorin moved a tad forward, _now is he going to kiss her?_ , but leaned back a moment later and lowered Bella down onto the blankets. He tucked the top blanket carefully around her, then watched her. “Wouldn't Thorin tell you to leave him? Why can't you?”

Bella smiled, eyes still closed, so happily that Tilda thought she was glowing. “He loves me. I never thought anyone would ever love me, but he does, and I think I love him.” Thorin went completely still, a silly grin spreading over his face. _Are they going to get married now? I hope they do_. “I've never been in love before, but I think I'm falling in love with him. But I don't know how to tell 'im,” Bella looked like she was going to cry. Tilda almost laughed at how their expressions had switched places. “An' I'm 'fraid what th'other Dwarves'll th'nk, 'n' wh't 'f he 'cides he d'sn't wan' me 'nym're...” 

Thorin sighed and laid his hand on her cheek; she turned her head into it and her expression relaxed. “Oh, Look-day-leh,” _What was that?_ “You really have no idea what you mean to me.” He kissed her softly on the forehead and went upstairs. Tilda waited a moment, then quietly got up and got her drink. She peeked down the stairs as she passed them and saw that whoever had been sitting there was gone. Shrugging, she continued upstairs and got caught by Sigrid. She submitted to the lecture easily enough, knowing that even if she shouldn't have been watching, she wouldn't trade the memory for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, gotta be honest, I've really never written kids before. How'd I do? She's supposed to be about ten-ish, but is that how she sounded? I really can't tell, so if you have any criticisms or suggestions, I'd love to hear them. (Also, I'm starting to write a de-aged Merlin fic, where she, Arthur, and Gwaine are six, so if anyone has any suggestions for that age, I'd really appreciate it.)  
> Sorry for the Fíli and Kíli angst, but I just... I couldn't completely ignore Tolkien canon. Hopefully the Tilda Pov/Bagginshield fluff made up for it. My take on Bard is that he's as manipulative as Bella, but where she makes stuff up and does her best to sell it, he uses the truth and twists it around, hence 'do you see any other men here'; he never said there weren't other men, and saying he only said he 'wouldn't call a shout a scream', not that he was the one screaming, or even that anyone was screaming besides Bella. I like him. So does Thorin, and trust me, so will Bella. *grins* Also, bonus 'Lukhdelê' pronunciation!  
> Bella wakes up next chapter! EEE!!!  
> À bientôt!


	43. Gemzachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella meets the Bardlings; the humans continue to be confused.

Bombur was clattering the dishes. _I hate camping_. A creak caught Bella's attention. _That sounded like wood. There's no wood floors in the palace. Or maybe Beorn's? No, we left Beorn's weeks ago. But this can't be Mirkwood, because I got us o_ — Bella's eyes shot open and she saw wooden walls, a ceiling, a table, and sat up, or tried to. As soon as she moved, she realized that her back was stiffer than it had even been in the palace, and held back a groan. 

“You're up!” A 'little' girl bounded over to her; she was clearly a child, and would likely have been around fifteen or sixteen if she'd been a Hobbit, but was at least Bella's height. “Oh, I like your eyes even more in the daylight, they're much prettier than mine and Sigrid's!” 

“Tilda,” Another one of the Big Folk, probably just a year or two away from her coming of age, moved over to the girl. They had the same walnut-brown hair and blue eyes. _Probably sisters_. “I told you to let her sleep.”

The girl, Tilda, pouted, and Bella chuckled. “It's fine; the sun woke me, not her. And,” she smiled at Tilda, “I think your eyes are much prettier than mine.”

Tilda's eyes widened. “Really? But yours are gold!”

Bella pushed herself up, with difficulty, to lean against the wall and patted the blankets in front of her for Tilda to sit. “But yours are like the sky. When Hobbits have blue eyes, they're darker or deeper. We almost always tend toward jewel tones for eyes, and more metallic colors for hair, not like yours.”

Tilting her head, Tilda blinked curiously at Bella. “Hobbits? Are those like habits?”

Bella chuckled. _I forgot how much I like children_. “No, Hobbits are like me! Pointy ears, furry feet, long fingers.” She gestured to Tilda; the girl held her hand out, and Bella gently positioned it so that she could lay their palms together. “You see?” Tilda giggled, and Bella joined in; their palms were the same size, but Bella's fingers were longer and more slender, although part of that was just that she had lost so much weight. But still, even though their hands were at the same level, Bella's fingers extended a full knuckle above the girl's.

“What do you mean, furry feet?” Bella looked from side to side before leaning in; Tilda eagerly did the same.

Being careful to pitch her voice so that the older girl could hear her as well, Bella mock-whispered, “I'll show you, but you can't touch them. It's very, very rude.”

Tilda's eyes widened further, and glanced at Bella's ears. “Would it be rude to touch those?”

Nodding gravely, Bella glanced at the older girl to make sure she was listening. “Extremely. Even more than my feet.” Both girls looked solemn, and Bella untangled her feet from the blankets, wincing at how filthy they were. 

Tilda laughed, and held one foot up to Bella's to compare. “Yours are as big as Sigrid's!”

The older girl sighed. “Don't be ridiculous, Tilda,” she walked over to them, carrying a plate of food, “She can't have feet as big as mi—”

Her face was such a perfect image of astonishment that Bella couldn't help laughing. Tilda joined in a moment later, and Sigrid flushed. Bella made an effort to school her expression as Sigrid held the plate out to her. “I'm sorry for laughing. Are Hobbits really so surprising? It seems that everywhere I go, someone is caught off guard by something I think is perfectly normal.” As soon as she took a bite of her food, the hunger that had faded into the background weeks ago reared up, and she had to fight the urge to wolf down everything on the plate. _I'm not doing that again; I hate throwing up_. 

As she forced herself to eat slowly, Sigrid sat next to Tilda. _Definitely sisters_. “Are your feet normal among Hobbits, then?”

Bella shook her head as she swallowed. “No, mine are actually on the small side.” She felt her face heat, and ducked her head to take another bite.

“Why're you blushing? You have pretty feet!” Bella choked, and coughed for a minute, feeling her blush spread even further.

Sigrid glared lightly at her sister. “Tilda, you're being rude. Apologize.”

Waving a hand, Bella shook her head. “No, it's fine, really.” She turned to Tilda and tried to choose her words carefully. “Feet are a sign of beauty among Hobbits, and big feet are much more attractive. I'm... not really used to being complimented on my feet.”

“Well—” Sigrid covered Tilda's mouth.

Tilda glared at the older girl, but Sigrid glared back. “You're making her uncomfortable. Would you like some more breakfast?”

Bella smiled sheepishly and held out her empty plate. “Yes, please.” While Sigrid crossed to the kitchen area and refilled the dish, Bella tried not to sound too anxious. “I was traveling with a group of Dwarves. Are they here?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Tilda beamed. “They got here a little while before you and the grumpy one and the Elves did. Da doesn't like the sad Dwarf, but I do—”

Bella cut her off. “Elves? Here?”

Sigrid handed her a full plate and sat again. “Legolas and Tauriel, I think.” Bella's eyes bugged. “They did something to help you and the youngest one, but they couldn't do much about your fever.”

“Youngest, you mean Kíli? Why would he need hel—” The memory of seeing an arrow in Kíli's leg, and then another arrow just missing her arm came back to Bella, and she closed her eyes briefly. Shaking her head, she opened her eyes again and began eating. “I had a fever? How bad was it?”

“Extremely.” Sigrid looked grim. “If the Elves hadn't come, I don't think there would have been anything anyone here could have done.”

Bella turned back to her food, and cleaned her plate quickly. Tilda brought her another and chattered away about what she thought of the Company; it was difficult to decipher a few of her nicknames for them, _Thorin's probably the grumpy one, but who would the sad one be? Kítos? No, she's the quiet one. Or is that Dwalin?_ but Bella kept a careful count and was glad to hear that all thirteen were safe and sound and sleeping upstairs. After the third serving, Bella felt steady enough to ask about washing up, and a change of clothes after she realized she was hardly wearing more than her waistcoat. Several times, Tilda started to ask something and was silenced by Sigrid, but the girl helped Bella to a washbasin and fetched her pack quickly. Bella's feet took the longest to clean, as dirt was practically caked in, but the ice-cold water woke her up the rest of the way. 

She thought over her dreams as she washed. She'd had nearly a dozen, almost as though they were making up for their absence in Mirkwood and the palace. All but one had been of the Dwarf boy either playing with the other two children or sparring with one of the two Dwarves that had been in a dream months ago, the ones that had been wearing circlets and holding an infant that must have been the boy as well. The odd one out had been of the older Dwarf, the boy's father, and he'd talked to her about something, _Thorin?_ , which, in hindsight, was bizarre. She'd never interacted with any of the other dreams. Once she was clean, she dressed in her shirt and skirt, which were a fair bit looser than she remembered, and felt light enough, without Mirkwood, hunger, and exhaustion dragging her down, to help Sigrid with the cooking. 

 

Thorin shifted uncomfortably. With Bella so sick, Bard had insisted that his daughters stay downstairs to tend her while he and his son slept near the stairs to ensure no one tried to get past them. While Thorin appreciated his concern for his family, it had still taken him hours to fall asleep, worrying about Bella. He felt as though he'd fallen asleep only a few minutes ago, and now there was singing coming from downstairs. “... _rday it fair took the bun;/ in came the broker's men/ to collar our few sticks,/ but we were up to all their tricks_...” The smell of food wafted into the room as Gloin opened the door, and the only members of the Company who didn't immediately jump up and run downstairs were Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli. Fíli scowled, covering his ears tightly while Thorin helped Kíli to his feet. Kíli rolled his eyes at Thorin, and they left Fíli to his grumbling. 

The song grew louder as they half-fell down the stairs: “... _acious, didn't we make a show,/ nineteen of us besides myself_ ,” Thorin and Kíli froze and broke into identical grins as they saw Bella dancing around the table with a grin, handing out plates to the Company, and singing with the younger girls, “ _And, we've all been having a go,/ oh, we've all been having a go,/ yeah, we've all been having a go!_ ” She was still painfully thin, her skirt only held up by its straps, with nearly-black circles under her eyes, but the color was back in her cheeks, a happy tilt to her ears, and light back in her eyes. She turned and beamed at them, and dragged out a chair for Kíli while Thorin helped him limp over. 

Before he sat, Kíli grabbed her and pulled her into a fierce hug. “Never do that again, Bella.”

She returned his hold for a moment before pushing him into the chair, still clinging to him. Thorin tried not to be jealous. “If you ruin your leg, I'll never forgive you. And what, exactly, do you mean by 'that'? Saving you from the spiders, the dungeons, the Orcs, or just in general?” 

There was a light scuffing behind Thorin as she let go of Kíli and stood, turning to face him, but he didn't stop to wonder what it was before stepping forward and yanking her into his arms. His heart immediately slowed as she looped her arms around his neck and returned the embrace just as tightly, sighing contentedly into his chest. She was cooler, now; still a little warmer than usual, but far better than she had been. Burying his face in her hair, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her _senseless, never let her go again, find out if she tastes as good as she smells_ , especially as he remembered her words from the previous night, but a throat being cleared behind him reminded him of his audience. He turned to face them, not letting go of her, and saw Bard and Legolas both glaring at him, while Tauriel pushed past to check on Kíli again. 

Bella lifted her head away from his chest and smiled at the _intruders_ Big Folk. “You must be Sigrid and Tilda's father. Thank you for helping us, especially with the risk. And Legolas, I have to admit, when Sigrid told me you were here, I almost didn't believe her.” Legolas' eyes widened at being addressed so familiarly, and Thorin held back a smirk. “She said that I was sick, and that you treated me. Thank you.” Her tone was warmer than a hearth, and Thorin smiled at her involuntarily. _Lukhdelê, how are you so angelic?_

Legolas bowed to her and replied _automatically_ smoothly, clearly still surprised. “ _I was glad to assist you_.” When he straightened, his expression was confused. “Did she not tell you of your wound?”

Bella frowned. “What wound?” Her eyes cleared. “Oh, the scratch on my arm. It's almost healed now.” Legolas blinked at her.

Kíli squawked behind her. “Scratch? I'm pretty sure I've never seen you scream that much over a scratch.” Thorin stiffened, remembering her sobs, and she glanced at him, then at Kíli, brow furrowed.

“You were struck with a Morgul arrow.” Bella's eyes jerked to Tauriel, and her eyes clouded over, color draining from her face. 

Thorin gently turned her head to look at him, tensing at the distress in her eyes. “Bella?” Her gaze flicked to meet his, and the color slowly bled back into her cheeks.

Smiling wanly, she turned to Legolas again, but clutched at Thorin a little more than she had been. “It seems I owe you more than I thought; I've seen what Morgul shafts do. I can't think of many worse ways to die.” She shook her head and forced a fraction of cheer into her tone. “Thank you for reversing it before the pain really started.”

Nearly all the Big Folk exclaimed at that, but Tilda was the one to ask, “Don't you remember it hurting?”

Turning in Thorin's arms, her hands fell to his biceps as she answered the girl; Thorin could hear the smile in her voice. “I’d thought it was a dream, but I remember all of it. Don't worry, I've had much worse.” She turned back to Thorin apologetically while the Big Folk sputtered. “And now, I think I should get back to helping Sigrid. She has a house full of Dwarves to cook for, you know.” 

She released Thorin's arms, but he tightened his hold on her. “I think you should be eating now. You're half-starved, Bella.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Then I think you should be letting Legolas look at your shoulder. I've already eaten as much as I can stand to for the next hour; I doubt anyone's treated you since Beorn's.” The memory of Beorn holding her brought a scowl to Thorin's face, and she tapped him on the nose. “No complaining. If I have to put up with being cosseted, so do you.”

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling to hide his grin. “Eru save me from the stubbornness of Hobbits.”

She scoffed, but couldn't quite mask her smile. “Excuse me, but if it weren't for the stubbornness of Hobbits, you'd still be in a dungeon.”

Legolas interrupted them both. “Holbytla!” Bella froze, her smile dying; the Elf didn't seem to notice. “That's why you looked familiar.”

Fingers locking onto Thorin's jacket, Bella swallowed. “That's what the Rohirrim called us. We prefer 'Hobbit'.” _Why is she reacting this way? She hasn't met any Rohirrim, we haven't been anywhere near Roha— The conversation she'd had with Dwalin, the day after the Carrock. She mentioned Rohan, sh... Iestyn_.

Sigrid called over her shoulder, diffusing the tension in the room, “I can handle breakfast, Bella, you don't have to help me. You should sit down and rest.” 

Bella laughed and moved away from Thorin, flashing him a quick, regretful glance. “I already have thirteen Dwarves trying to tell me what to do, and failing, for the most part. You think I'm going to listen to a human girl less than half my age?” She pulled over a small box to stand on, but still could barely reach across the countertop.

Sigrid laughed, but Bard's jaw dropped. “Half y— How old are you?”

Bella looked back at him innocently, but Thorin could see the mischievous glint in her eye. “Forty-two.” Bard sounded like he was choking, but she continued regardless. “Sigrid's eighteen, so I'm fairly sure that qualifies as less than half of my age. Doesn't it, Kíli?”

Thorin just had time to see the pained look on Kíli's face before Dwalin interrupted. “I thought you were forty-one.” Kíli had schooled his expression by the time Thorin glanced at him again. _What was that?_

“So did I, but apparently I lost track of time a bit; my birthday was a couple weeks ago.”

Tilda piped up, the picture of offended disappointment. “And she won't let me give her anything!” 

Bella chuckled. “I told you, Hobbits give presents on our birthdays. Don't you want a present?” _They what?_

Tilda scrunched her face up; Fíli came quietly into the room and sat next to Kíli. “I suppose,” the girl smiled brightly, “But I can still give you a present now that Mr. Balin is your Da, can't I?”

Confused, Bella shook her head. “Balin isn't my father.” When Balin cleared his throat, she turned to look at him.

“Unless you'd like me to be.” She stared at him for another moment before her expression cleared; her eyes filled with tears a moment after that, and she ran forward to throw her arms around him. 

He held her gently, and her voice was muffled from where she had her face tucked into his neck. “I haven't had a father in a long time. I'm not sure I remember how to act.”

When he spoke, his voice was thick, even if he didn't let any tears fall. “I've never had a daughter. I think you'll be teaching me how to act.” He let her go, and wiped at her tears when she stepped back.

Dwalin stepped closer to them. “I think I'd like to hug my niece, if she'll have me.” Laughing, she moved to hug him, and half-shrieked when he lifted her off the ground so that their faces were at the same level. He spun her around, her skirts flaring a fraction; Thorin looked away, flushing, and, when Dwalin was facing him again, the warrior grinned evilly at Thorin and whispered something to her that made her yelp and pull back slightly, cuprite-red. He shrugged unrepentantly as he set her down, and she flushed even darker, all the way to her ears, when she saw Thorin and the others watching her. 

She glared at Dwalin over her shoulder, but it was too wry to have any real heat. “You're going to be even worse than Kíli, aren't you?” He only smiled wider in response, and fixed Thorin with a vicious smirk that chilled his blood. _And now she has four guardians, three of which enjoy giving me a hard time._

 _...Wonderful_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the (semi-)late update; this is why I have an alarm set. So, notes: the 'jewel tones for eyes, metallic colors for hair' thing is my personal headcanon that (if Yavanna had actually made Hobbits) the spouses' children would reflect their creators' love for each other, in that Yavanna would see the jewels and metals that Aulë loves whenever she looked at her children, and he would see Yavanna's earth and plants whenever he looked at his Dwarves. (I can't remember if I mentioned it earlier or not, but if I didn't, if you read through the story, I try to always use more natural colors for the Dwarrow.) Also, that means that Hobbits see the earth and plants they love, as well, when they (or, in this case, Bella) look at their (her) Dwarf Voshel (or Vashil, but really, I'm mostly talking about Bella, so why pretend?), and Dwarrow (or I could just be honest and say Thorin)-- Thorin sees the metal he loves in Bella's hair and eyes. (Especially when they're talking on the balcony in chapter 12. ^u^)  
> The song that Bella and the girls are singing is from the 1999 Christmas Carol, the one with Patrick Stewart. I grew up with it, so it was pretty much the first thing I thought of when I was trying to find a song for this scene. And yes, the song was necessary. (I just want real life to be a musical, is that so much to ask?)  
> Hope the Bagginshield reunion lived up to what you were hoping! Oh, and the reason her age shocked Bard is that (in my 'verse) he's a few months younger than her. I can tell you with absolute certainty that he was *not* expecting that. *grins*  
> There's fluff next chapter, too, so look forward to that! À bientôt!!


	44. Ramekhzachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hobbits vs. Elves, round 1.

Bella tried to focus on Dwalin's muttered curses as he worked a short four strand french braid into her hair, but every time Thorin moved, her eyes were pulled to him and she thought of Dwalin's words again. She'd been thrilled when he and Balin adopted her, but she'd forgotten about his sense of humor. _‘Now I can torture the lad even more when you start courting. Although with the way he looks at you, I doubt it'll be a month before he takes you to the marriage bed.’_  

She flushed again, thinking of it, and wished she'd smacked Dwalin when she had the chance. Right now she felt too sorry for him. Fíli had offered to let Balin braid her hair from now on, but both her new relatives had begged off the honor, telling Fíli that he was ten times as skilled as either of them. They had, however, asked to choose the style, which Bella had elected not to know of beforehand. They'd agreed easily when she told them how much she liked being surprised. 

Balin, while he was doing his braid above Fíli's on her right temple, had explained that the order of braids were according to status, both as they related to Bella and as they stood in Dwarven society, but were also subject to personal preference. Until she was able to do them herself, the places of honor, just above her ears, would be reserved for her brothers, both because they had been the first to welcome her into their family, and because they were more closely linked to the throne than the sons of Fundin. Dwalin cursed again, and Bella glanced to her left to see that the curls near the ends were tangling the strands. She bit back a smirk, and Dwalin glared at her before mouthing 'courting' at her; she smacked him on the leg and instantly regretted it. _Yavanna's toes, it's like hitting rock!_

Thorin turned toward Tauriel and Bella's attention snapped to him. The Company's conversations made it impossible to hear his words, but she saw him gesture to Kíli, face gravely earnest, and could guess what he was saying. In Rivendell, she never would have guessed that in less than six months he would be conversing so civilly with an Elf, much less one who had probably been there when Thranduil left his people to starve. Dwalin snickered, and Bella realized that she was smiling as she watched Thorin. Blushing as his words came back to her yet again, she ducked her head and glared at her uncle again. _I never thought about anything like that until he said th—_ Her blush spread to her ears. _Except there was when I wanted to kiss him in the dungeons. Twice, no, three times. I must have already been sick at that point. That must be it. So if I could just stop thinking about kissing him, that would be wonderful. I bet his lips— No, nonono, I am not getting distracted right before facing a dragon_. 

Across the room, Thorin smiled and she blushed a shade warmer, not sure when she started watching him again. Dwalin chuckled again, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He smirked. “I'm sorry this is taking so long, lass, but I don't have half the skill as your brothers. Or their uncle, I suppose. I could always ask Thorin to help.” His last sentence had, _thank the Queen_ , been much quieter, although that just meant it was twice as teasing. 

Bella nearly called for Fíli, but instead smiled viciously as a thought occurred to her. She whispered back, as quietly as he had, “Or we could ask Ori.” Dwalin's jaw slackened, and, because she was watching him so closely, Bella saw his eyes flick toward Kítos for the briefest instant before meeting hers again. _Time to test a theory_. “I'm sure she'd love to help.” His eyes widened at the pronoun, and he paled just slightly while his lips tightened a fraction. Bella grinned victoriously. “You knew— I knew you knew!” 

She held back her laughter with a deal of difficulty, but Thorin still came over with a faint smirk. “Something funny?”

Blinking up at him innocently, she shrugged. “What, I can't have a private joke with my uncle?” He immediately walked away, and her mood fell. _I was looking forward to his response; why'd he leave?_ Dwalin was laughing as hard as when they'd talked after the Carrock, after he'd asked about Hobbit-holes. She glared at him. After a minute, he calmed enough for her to raise her eyebrows at him.

Wiping away a few tears, Dwalin smirked at her. “What did you expect, shrugging at him like that?”

 _He's never had a problem with me shrugging before_. Bella glanced toward Thorin where was talking to Bard on the other side of the room, facing away from her. “Well, I—” She shrugged again, glancing down, and realized that with her hands in her lap, moving her arms had the effect of also moving her chest. She flushed strawberry-red, yanking her arms away, and hissed, “You could've told me.”

“Isn't that what I just did? Besides, where else am I supposed to get any entertainment?”

Bella whacked his leg again, harder than before, and tried not to wince as she shook out her hand. “Would you stop that?!”

“What, making your hand hurt?”

“Saying things to make me hit you, which, in turn, makes my hand hurt, yes.”

“I think we'll need to work on your hand-to-hand.”

She chuckled. “Somehow I get the feeling that's non-negotiable.”

“That a complaint?”

“No, far from it. Anything that can help me avoid...” She cut herself off, trying not to think of the Camps, and Dwalin held an arm out to her. Smiling, she scooted to his side so that he could wrap his arm around her and lean his head against hers.

For a few seconds, they just sat like that. Then he spoke. “Bet you wish Thorin was the one hugging you, don't you?” 

This time she made sure to hit him lightly. “How about from now on, every time you tease me about Thorin, I tease you about Ori.”

He looked at her appraisingly for a moment, then nodded. It was only another minute before he slid his bead onto the braid and called for Fíli to finish it.

A few minutes after her three eldest relatives gathered behind her to work on her hair, Legolas sat in front of her. “I remember seeing Hobbits in the valley of Anduin.” Balin and Thorin, and possibly more, but Bella couldn’t quite tell, exclaimed quietly.

Bella raised an eyebrow. “That was nearly two millennia ago.” 

Soberly, he nodded. “I was still a child, but I remember asking if Hobbits were a kind of Elf. The ears were very confusing.”

Despite herself, Bella smiled at that. “More fairies than Elves, but it’s an easy mistake.”

Tauriel sat next to Legolas with a faint smirk. “Fairies?”

Fíli spoke up behind her. “Isn’t that what Arathorn called you?”

“Among other things.” Rolling her eyes, she started to shake her head before Fíli tugged lightly on her hair to get her to stop. “How that man can think up so many nicknames, I’ll never understand. Although he’s still not nearly as bad as the twins.” Legolas raised an eyebrow and she elaborated, “Elladan and Elrohir.”

His jaw dropped, and Tauriel sounded skeptical. “You’re that familiar with the sons of Elrond?”

“Hard not to be when they insist on acting even more childish than my furnaces.” Fíli started to protest, and Bella reached behind her to poke his leg. “Oh, don’t even start. You practically did a happy dance when I took your bead.”

Kíli laughed from somewhere behind the Elves. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been the more mature one!”

Bella raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, did I not mention the ‘haggling’ incident?” He sputtered; she smirked. “Not to mention I’m fairly sure you thought my last name was ‘Boggins’ for at least a week.”

“That was one time!”

“Two times, and then you avoided using my name for days, you just called me ‘Hobbit’!” Tauriel looked as though she were biting back laughter.

“Well, you were the one playing hide and seek!”

“You were the one who tried to dump a bucket of water on my head!”

“Pranking Lindir was your idea!”

“On your behalf, and you were happy to help!”

“You sassed your aunt!”

“Cousin, and in TROUSERS, no less!” The entire Company burst into laughter, the Big Folk looking bemusedly around them.

Once the laughter had died down, though Kíli and Bofur were still chortling out of sight, Legolas went back to the earlier subject. “The house of Elrond counts you as Elf-Friend?”

“At least one of them counts her as sister.” Fíli sounded distinctly jealous, and Bella resisted the urge to spin around and tease him.

His words registered a moment later. “Of course you speak Sindarin. Why am I even surprised?” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then turned as much as she could now that he was working on the tail of her braid. “It's an affectation, that's all. I may be their sister, but they're not my brothers. I like my actual brothers far more than them, although,” she chuckled, “I still like them far more than most.” Fíli enveloped her in a hug from behind and she leaned into it as much as she could.

“I'm surprised someone with such ties to the Firstborn would choose to associate with a group such as this.”

Bella fixed her eyes on the Elven Prince's as she straightened, voice cold. “I have stronger ties to the house of Elrond than to my blood family, but I value my 'association' with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield more than any other. They have proven themselves worthy of my esteem, respect, and affection ten times over, regardless of their status in the eyes of the Firstborn. Whereas, the Silvan Elves have earned my enmity and distrust, with the exception, thus far, of the two of you.” Fíli resumed his braiding.

Legolas straightened to match her posture, expression indignant. “We have behaved honorably t—”

“Yes, your people 'honorably' imprisoned thirteen Dwarves who had done nothing more than trespass—”

“On our land, and attacked us at our feasting—”

“'Attack' is another word for 'implore', is it? At least, that's the only explanation I can think of, given that I was unarmed and visibly starving when I approached you—”

“If you had, I would have seen—”

“Do you doubt my honesty? Even if I were to lie, I wouldn't bother with something as trivial as that, not when the truth is so much more effective—”

“Your Company was detained because they would not explain their presence in our lands—”

“Oh, of course. Not because of greed, not at all.”

“Do you impugn my honor?”

“I impugn your father's honor, given that he was the one who went on for three paragraphs in his journal about how much he wanted his jewels back from Erebor—”

“My father is a just and wise King!”

“Your father is a vain, greedy, grasping miser of a king, unworthy of being called Illúvatar's child!” Legolas's eyes flared, but Bella didn't give him the chance to respond. “You, however, are the fourth-best Elf I've encountered, behind the twins and Tauriel.” The Prince's face slackened in pure shock. “When you aren't thinking of what your father would want you to do rather than what you ought to do, you're almost as sensible as my father.” A wave of possessive affection swept through her, and she turned to smile at Balin over her shoulder, blinking back tears as he smiled proudly back at her. Fíli tied off her braid and let it fall against her back.

Thorin's muffled laughter drew her attention back to the Elves, or, rather, to Thorin standing behind and between them. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying and failing to erase her smile. For a few seconds, he schooled his expression just enough to choke out, “You look quite the warrior,” Then ducked down so that she couldn’t see him, although she could still hear him laughing, as she ran her hands over her hair. Fíli had wrangled her hair into a full [braid](https://www.samvilla.com/pro/blog/day-to-night-hairstyle-tutorial-mohawk-braid-into-fishtail-bun/) at the top of her head, the two french braids on either side of her temple leading into the central plait.

She turned slowly to narrow her eyes at Dwalin, over the other shoulder from Balin. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?” He smirked at her, unrepentant. Despite her best effort, she couldn’t glare at him for more than a moment before she started laughing, too. “Oh, Uncle Isumbras’d love you.”

“What, he wouldn’t like us?” Kíli, grinning, limped past Tauriel, and Bella smirked as the redhead helped him sit next to her.

“Him? No. His children?” Bella’s smile faded as her eyes widened, horrified awe spreading through her as she imagined introducing her brothers to any of her Took family. “Oh, Yavanna’s Ears, the Shire would be rubble in a day.” Dwalin and Nori guffawed at the cuss, while Dori, Kítos, Fíli, and Kíli choked. Thorin looked impressed. The Big Folk looked confused. Tilda asked Bain what was so funny and Bella flushed as she remembered the children in the room. _Thank the Giver they didn’t have any context!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, 1, for the shrug, if you've seen the infamous Mary-Jane pose, you have a pretty good idea why Thorin had to leave. Poor guy. She's really not making the whole 'self-control' thing easy on him. 2, canon is vague about how Elves age, so in my 'verse, Elves come of age at a hundred and their growth is accordingly slow, so while Legolas was about forty the last time he saw a Hobbit, he was effectively eight. 3, yeah, I'm biased toward the Dwarves. Elves are good, yeah, but Dwarves get treated kind of terribly in canon, so what can I say? I like underdogs. 4, there's a link on 'braid' for a picture of the hairstyle. I couldn't resist. It's just so Dwarven! And 5, that cuss? In the Shire, that'd be practically obscene. Not vulgar, but definitely not for little ears, pointed or not.  
> À bientôt!
> 
> P.S., happy Reformation Sunday!


	45. Gamekhzachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Hallowe'en!

“But why did you leave Anduin?”

Bella stared at Legolas, then shook her head. “You’re like a limpet, you know that?”

His expression, if anything, grew more frustrated. “But why did you leave? No one would tell me.”

His words from earlier came back to her. _Just a child, and no one explained_. She was still annoyed with him, but felt a great deal more sympathetic than before. “There’s a chance no one knew. Hobbits are private, by nature. They might not have said anything before they left.”

“Why were they there in the first place?” _Why am I not surprised he would ask?_

Bella smiled at Kíli. “That’s where we came from, of course. We’ve only been in the Shire for about thirteen hundred years; we lived in Anduin for Ages before that, not that anyone knew.”

“Thir— But you said two millennia.” Fíli moved to sit by his brother as he spoke.

“I did.” Her smile fell as she remembered the histories. “The Wandering Days were the hardest we’ve ever known.” She closed her eyes and regathered herself. Shaking her head, she looked soberly to Legolas. “And if the Periandi had known how long the journey would be, how many of our people would be lost, how much suffering we would endure, they would have done no differently.” The Elf-Prince’s eyes widened; the rest of the room, including Bain and Tilda, gathered closer to listen, and Bella let her voice grow a hair louder. “The exact reasons behind the Periandi’s decision have been lost for years, but our traditions hold that they left because they had to. That there was an evil, some formless thing that poisoned the land, and tainted my people. I had always thought that it was a bogey-man, invented to frighten fauntlings into behaving. That was before I’d seen the Mirkwood.”

Legolas’s face darkened, and Bella prepared for another argument. But after a moment, he cleared his expression and met her gaze evenly. “What about the Mirkwood do you say is tainted?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “I say that Mirkwood taints, not that it is tainted. Diseased, cursed, yes, but not ‘tainted’. I am not a healer, nor a wood-witch that I could give you a diagnosis; all I know is that a blight lurks in its very earth, that merely standing in the shadow of your forest was enough to affect me, and that there is something…” Her voice grew lower as she remembered the weeks under the trees. “Something completely and utterly malevolent, that finds every dark thought you ever had and brings them to the surface, forcing you to stare into their depths until you feel blind from the lack of light and lose any hope of seeing the beauty of Arda again.” 

She was yanked out of her memories of the Yavanna-forsaken place by huge hands _not Thorin_ grabbing her and pulling her into a lap. Looking up, she laughed to see Dwalin’s mulish face scowling above her. Balin sat beside his brother, chuckling, and hugged her gently. 

Her stomach growled, and she blushed while Tilda giggled. “I’ll get you more!”

Fíli mock-scowled at Dwalin as Balin released Bella and she settled back against the warrior. “Why do you get to hold our sister?”

Dwalin’s arms tightened around Bella, and she looked up to see him scowling back at the boys. “You’ve had your turn.”

Bella giggled softly. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m the teddy bear all of a sudden?” Kíli burst into a hearty laugh, as did Fíli and Nori, while Bella glanced at Thorin. _Is he blushing?_ She smiled at him, remembering that morning in Mirkwood, _he’s definitely blushing_ , and her smile widened. Tilda carried over two heaping plates of food, her tongue poking out as she concentrated on not spilling them, and Bella’s smile faded. She took the plates, and set one down on the floor next to Dwalin’s leg, but only poked at the food. “I’m sorry.”

She met Bard’s eyes, and saw only confusion in them. “For what?”

Flushing, she ducked her head. “I’m probably eating you out of house and home when I can get by with less.” A cacophony of protests sounded, but the Elves’ participation was the sole surprise.

Thorin glowered at her, but worry spilled through. “You need the food more than any other in this Company apart from Kíli. We have the funds to repay Bard’s generosity. Eat.” The blatant concern in his eyes sent warmth all through Bella, but she still hesitated.

Bard’s voice was quiet, and his eyes soft. “Listen to your employer. Eat. I’ll not let you go hungry when you’re so ill.”

“I’m not ill.” Half the room scoffed, and Bella deflated a tad. She chuckled suddenly. “I forgot.”

Thorin sat on Legolas’ other side, to her surprise, _and Legolas’_. “Forgot what?”

“That you’re my employer.” She smiled at his expression. _I don’t think I’m the only one who forgot_. “Or are you my King, now?” She tapped the beads in her hair. “Since I’m an honorary Dwarf.” He didn’t answer, his gaze having darkened after her first question, and her cheeks heated, pulse quickening. Usually when he was that intense, it was because he was angry, but _that is_ _not_ _anger_. She couldn’t look away from his nearly-black eyes, _and I don’t think I want to_. Before she could work out what, exactly, she wanted to do, Balin cleared his throat loudly and glared at Thorin. 

Feeling as though her face was on fire, Bella focused on her food. It was almost exactly what had happened just before they reached Beorn’s, including Balin’s interruption. The first time, she’d been grateful to the older Dwarf, and they’d all been distracted fast enough that Bella, at least, hadn’t had the chance to realize what’d been happening until the next day. This time, Bella didn’t need any more time to figure out why she’d reacted as she had. And objectively, she knew that she should be grateful to Balin for keeping things from escalating, especially in front of the rest of her family, and especially in front of everyone else in the room. Emotively, she really wished her new father hadn’t broken the mood quite so soon. _No, nO! Dragon. Big, lots of teeth, waiting in the mountain. No distractions. Speaking of_ …

“Oi!” She pointed her fork at Thorin, who was looking a fair bit more self-conscious than he had a minute ago. “I’m eating; you have to let Legolas look at your shoulder.” Thorin recovered from his surprise quickly, and an _enticing_ glint was in his eye as he smirked faintly and reached for his collar.

“In the other room!” Balin’s voice was ice, and Bella pouted a little as she went back to her food. Balin continued to glare at Thorin, as did the rest of her family and most of the Company, until he was out of sight upstairs with Legolas.

Out of the corner of her mouth, Bella muttered, “Well, that wasn’t fair.”

Balin huffed. “I wasn’t trying to be fair to the lad.”

“Not to him, to me. You could’ve just told him to turn around; you lot’ve already seen my bare back, after all.”

Tauriel snorted, although she looked a tad scandalized. “All’s fair, I suppose?”

Bella grinned mischievously at the Elleth. “Of course! I haven’t even seen his bare arms yet.”

Fíli narrowed his eyes at her. “Since when is it ‘yet’?”

Flushing, Bella took another bite of food, but Fíli kept staring at her, Balin joining him. Kíli just smirked. “Since before Beorn’s, at least, I think.”

Fíli and Balin snorted. “You don’t have to tell us that, laddie.”

“Although I wouldn’t have said it was really anything until that last night there; did you see the smile she gave him?” Resolving to ignore them, Bella kept eating, growing more and more petunia-red as the boys bantered.

“See it? I thought I’d go blind! But you didn’t see the way she looked at him when she came out of the bathhouse.”

“Wait, he—”

“He got there after she came out, fully dressed, but I think she was enjoying the view as much as he was.”

“Really? That must’ve taken some doing; he was looking at her like—”

“Yeah, but he was wearing the shirt she fixed for him.”

Finally fed up, Bella pointed her fork at the two of them. “This! This, this is why I specifically said ‘annoying’ older brothers!” Dwalin chuckled, and she resisted the urge to smack him again. “Oh, don’t you dare, you’re worse than either of them!” As her own words registered, she groaned and let her head fall into her hands. “Why did I do this to myself?”

Kíli sounded offended. “Oh, like you wouldn’t tease us at least as much as this.”

She raised her head slowly, a feral smile creeping onto her face. “Oh, would I?” She didn’t glance toward Tauriel. She didn’t need to. 

All the color drained from Kíli’s face, but Dwalin’s muttered, “Yes.” took her off guard.

After thinking of how she’d brought up Kítos to him, she bobbed her head. “Fair enough.” Immediately, the boys started asking why, when, and about who she’d teased Dwalin. Swiftly, she threw bits of food at their heads. “Rude!” Even if they knew about Kítos, Bella still wouldn’t tell them about Dwalin’s… what was Kítos, anyway? He obviously liked her, maybe loved her, and Bella would guess that Kítos was his One, but was she right?

 

Thorin pulled off his shirt with a wince. After fighting the Orcs in near-freezing water, his shoulder had relapsed somewhat, although he’d barely noticed until well after the Elves arrived with Bella. As much as he hated to admit it, having the Elf take a look wasn’t a terrible idea. _Although I wouldn’t have minded doing this in front of her. If Balin hadn’t been there_ — He shook his head and determinedly focused on the Elf. He’d thought the image of her in Erebor had been tantalizing, but the way she called him her King had nearly undone him. And then, the way she’d flushed to her ears, how her eyes had darkened, how she’d stared back at him as though he was all she could see; if Balin hadn’t been there… But Balin had, and she’d looked away from him, and he’d felt as though he’d been drowning in her eyes and had suddenly come up for air, and, of course, remembered his audience. When she’d looked at him a minute later, she’d had none of the alluring color in her cheeks, but he’d thought that it would be easy enough to put it back if he was shirtless, _if Balin hadn’t been there. To believe I thought Balin would be the least trouble out of her family_.

The Elf looked torn between amusement and scorn. “Her… ‘family’ doesn’t seem to approve.” It was much easier to focus on the prince when he was being condescending.

Thorin glared at him. “It doesn’t seem to be any of your business.”

“Given that you looked as though you would’ve made it the entire room’s business with about five more seconds more, I’d say it is.” The Elf prodded Thorin’s shoulder, and it was only through strength of will that Thorin didn’t shout. As it was, he broke into a string of black curses, making sure to do so in Sindarin, and grinned viciously at the shock on the Elf’s face. _Unfortunately_ , the prince recovered quickly and mixed together a few materials too swiftly for Thorin to get a good look at any of them. The Elf smeared the resulting paste on Thorin’s half-healed wounds roughly, ignoring the fresh curses that streamed from him.

Once Thorin had his breath back, he glared at the prince. The Elf glared back. Against his will, Thorin was almost impressed. Faint yelling came from downstairs, and Thorin recognized Bella’s voice, although he couldn’t make out her words. The prince snorted, and Thorin raised an eyebrow. _He has a sense of humor; I’m shocked_. “Your chosen is fiercer than I’d expected. You’d do well to listen to her.”

A smile crept onto Thorin’s face as he remembered how she’d reacted in the dungeons to his suggestion of escaping while she could. “Fiercer than I’d expected, as well. And stronger.” His smile fell as he thought of her fire as she raged against the wizard, and then of her pain.

The Elf was watching him closely, expression hesitant. “She mentioned spiders earlier.”

Thorin huffed. “I know as much as you. Whatever she was referring to, it took place after I was separated from the group. If you wish to hear the account, you’ll have to ask her.” Frowning discontentedly, the prince bandaged Thorin’s shoulder in silence, and exited the room while Thorin was dressing. 

When Thorin came downstairs, Dwalin and Kíli were arguing vehemently, Bella still in Dwalin’s lap, cleaning off her second plate and looking highly entertained by the situation. “…y sister before she was your niece!”

“Aye, and you had weeks to cuddle her, didn’t you?!”

“Barely two!”  
“Which is more time than I’ve had, so leave off!” Kíli’s face flooded with color when he saw Thorin watching, but Dwalin’s only reaction was to hold her a little tighter and flash a smug smirk at the King.

Thorin raised an eyebrow, but quirked both at Bella. She grinned at him. “If I’d known Dwarves were so cuddly, I would have adopted yours ages ago!”

He sat facing her, unable to quell a small, fond smile. “So do you have a preference?”

She shrugged, then blushed lightly. _Why_ — “Family’s family, and you’re all equally warm.” She wasn’t meeting his eyes, and Thorin nearly asked why before he remembered the last time she’d shrugged.

Fortunately for him, the prince intervened. “What did you mean when you said you saved them from the spiders?”

For a moment, all she did was blink at the Elf. Then her eyes widened and she ducked her head, bright red. Dwalin roared laughing, hugging her warmly, while Kíli exclaimed, “That’s right, you weren’t there!”

Fíli smacked his brother. “Of course he wasn’t; that was after the Elves took him.”

Nori chimed in from behind Dwalin, “And after our Bella scaled a tree.”

“She might be the only person I know who can argue without a word,” Balin chuckled. Glancing at Dwalin, then Thorin, he amended, “The only lass I know.”

“Saved all of us, she did!” Bofur’s statement was met with hearty agreement by all the Dwarrow in the room, while Bella grew even more red.

She mumbled, “It wasn’t that impressive.”

Fíli crouched next to her and gently lifted her chin. “I was watching while I caught my breath. You took out nearly twenty spiders, and those were only the ones I saw.” 

“Closer to thirty.” She blushed a shade darker at Dwalin’s boast, _proud uncle that he is_. The Elves looked awed. Dwalin chuckled. “So how many did you get before you cut us down?”

At first, her voice was inaudible, but Oin’s repeated ‘WHAT?’ prompted her to raise her head high and say clearly, “I killed eight spiders while you were all tied up.”

Tilda brought a mug of water over to Bella and asked curiously, “Were they big spiders?” _They must have been, otherwise the Company wouldn’t be so insistent_.

“Huge, as big as your Da!” Kíli’s words sent Tilda running to her father, who glared at the now-sheepish Dwarf.

Bella scowled at Kíli, blush beginning to fade. “They were not. They might have been taller than you, but I don’t think they were much taller than Thorin.” Her blush returned, but she was holding herself more confidently, and Thorin couldn’t look away. He couldn’t imagine the creatures, but he could picture her quite clearly, standing strong and proud, sword in hand as she defended his Company. _Lukhdelê, my Queen, is there no end to your surprises?_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus! I don't really celebrate Halloween other than using it as an excuse to watch Monster House and The Nightmare Before Christmas, but for everyone who does (or doesn't), here ya go!  
> 'Periandi' is Quenya for 'Hobbit', so I'm appropriating it as a term that Hobbits adopted to mean specifically the Hobbits who first left Anduin and Wandered. (And yes, I know that in canon, Hobbits have forgotten about The Wandering Days, but it's my story, so shh!)   
> Final count: Spiders 0, Dwarves 11, Bella 37. Don't mess with angry Hobbits, especially when they're feeling a little more bloodthirsty than usual because of Mirkwood, especially when they're armed, and especially don't mess with their families. (^u^)  
> À bientôt!


	46. Geszachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy All Saints Day! Here's a happy chapter!

Balin wasn’t as affectionate as Bella’s brothers. _As his either_. She chuckled, but it was true. Apparently, having a ‘baby’ niece had brought out Dwalin’s softer side, but Balin was content to simply sit next to her. Not that she really minded; it had been a long day, even if it was barely sunset now, and Bella was slumped against her father’s side, exhausted, _because, obviously, sleeping for four hours this afternoon wasn’t enough_. The rest of the Company was still eating, although her family, Kítos, and Thorin were glancing at her every few seconds as though they thought she would vanish into thin air if unobserved for too long. The King’s glances sent jolts of warmth through her, each one reminding her that he didn’t just want her, he loved and cared for her. The wanting had been fairly obvious for some time, now that she thought about it, and the love had been there since Beorn’s, if not the Carrock, but she hadn’t  seen the care, the concern. She’d felt it, in the Mirkwood, even if she’d been half-conscious for most of it, but it was different, somehow, to see it in his eyes. 

He didn’t look at her like she was broken, like her Took family had, or like she was a freak, as the rest of the Shire had. Mirabella, Primula, and Drogo had been wary of her at times, but there was no hesitance in the Dwarves’ faces. She’d hurt her Aunt and Prim, during her dreams, hit them hard enough to draw blood a few times. That was why she’d learned to stay quiet and still during her nightmares. Don’t make a sound, don’t move a muscle. It was the only way to keep her family safe. But now, she had family that she probably couldn’t hurt if she tried. In fact, most of the time, they seemed to be more worried that they would hurt her. They looked at her like she was… well, family. Not like a child, not a damsel in distress, but injured. They treated her, talked to her, held her, as though she had a broken limb and they were doing their best to help her heal, and as though she weren't any lesser for needing help. But Thorin…

He didn’t look at her like she was injured, he looked at her like she was a warrior. He talked to her like a friend, he treated her like… like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. Her cheeks heated as she watched him, but she didn’t look away. He was magnificent, even dressed as casually as he was, and majestic, _of course_. He smiled at something Fíli said, one of his rare, wide smiles, and her heart skipped a beat at how open he looked. He put the rest of the table to shame, even the Elves. She glanced at them appraisingly. Tauriel was beautiful, of course, but unless she was talking to Kíli, she looked too remote to really be lovely. When she  was talking to him, though, she was truly winsome. Legolas was the same way; most of the time, he was simply too reserved to be attractive. When he relaxed, Bella admitted, he was handsome, but even so.

Thorin was different from them. The Elves were as distant as the stars they loved so much, unless something, like Kíli, tied them to Arda. The Dwarves were even more firmly rooted than Hobbits, _as befit a people of stone_. All the Dwarves at the table were  here in a way that Bella couldn’t articulate, but could see nonetheless. And none more so than Thorin. His eyes were like hydrangeas, his hair like threads of silver through a moonless night, and Bella couldn’t understand how he somehow looked more striking than anyone else at the table. The light was the same on all of them, Fíli’s eyes were nearly as blue, Dwalin’s hair nearly as dark, but every inch of Thorin was more arresting than she would have said was possible a year ago.

And he was a walking contradiction. He was so gentle, but he could be so ferocious. He held her during her nightmares, listened to her babble, but he looked at her like she was made of steel. He had regality pouring out his ears, but he willingly submitted to the indignity of hiding in barrels of fish, if Dwalin could be believed. He was a King, and he loved a slave. She shook her head slightly. _Former slave_. And she had no doubt that if Azog found her again, if she had been taken now, rather than twenty years before she met any of the Company, they would have saved her. Thorin would have saved her. He would have fought to get to her, and she to him. And if Azog found him, she would do whatever it took to get him back. She’d been too young, too inexperienced, and too defenseless to fight the Orcs before, but now she was older, she had been in battle, and she was armed. If Azog got too close, she wouldn’t be able to do anything, but who said she had to let him close? And if Azog harmed any of her family, if he dared  touch Thorin, he would die. Maybe not by her hand, and maybe taking her with him, but she would see him dead.

She chuckled. Balin raised an eyebrow at her, smirking fondly. “I just realized I’ve become very bloodthirsty for a Hobbit. Not proper at all.”

“Don’t worry, my girl, you’re still far more gentle than any Dwarf.” Leaning in to kiss her forehead, he smiled softly, almost exactly like her father— like Bungo used to. _Have to differentiate between them somehow._

“Balin…” _How to ask?_ “…I never expected this. You. When did you…?” _Start to care about me?_

“To be honest, I’m not sure. Perhaps at Beorn’s. Certainly by the time we reached Thranduil’s dungeons.” She couldn’t stop a surprised exhale, and he looked at her sadly. “Is it so strange to think that we could care for you? We aren’t exactly the most expressive race, that’s true enough, but we care deeply, and heartily, once it’s earned.”

She shook her head slowly. “Hobbits are much the same. We grow to like or dislike quickly, and we’re almost never wrong about people. I started to consider all of you my friends in Rivendell, if not before, and family not long after we left for the Misty Mountains. I just…” Shakily, she took a deep breath, lowering her voice when Thorin’s glances grew a tad more concerned. “I changed, after the Fell Winter. When I came back to the Shire, everyone decided that I’d become a different person, one who was completely unHobbitish, and they only got worse as the years went by. It’s been a very long time since anyone cared for me who wasn’t obliged to.” When the elder Dwarf remained silent, she glanced up and fell still, shocked. He was watching her, his expression one of profound sorrow, tears gathering in his eyes, and he shook his head mutely, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers just as her brothers had, as Thorin had.

Her eyes fell closed, and tears of her own began to spill. “Lass,” his voice was thick, “you are the most warmhearted, generous, stubborn, and brave woman I’ve known since I lost my Feírês, and the Shirelings have lost the best of them, by far.” He placed one finger under her chin, drawing back, and she opened her eyes to look up at his blurry silhouette. “You are everything I would have wished for in a daughter, and more. I never could have hoped for a child as quick-witted, or as forgiving.” She leaned against his side, hiding her face in his shoulder, and felt her exhaustion catching up with her. _Queen, don’t let me forget a single word, please_.

It felt only a moment later that she was standing in a courtyard, in the middle of a bustling city. _I’m dreaming_. The thought gave her pause. _Have I… No, I’ve never known I was in the middle of a dream except just after we entered Mirkwood, I remembered dreaming of the boy before. He… he’s been in most of my dreams. Although, the baby had his eyes; was he in all of my dreams?!_ A Man walking past her brought her out of her musings, and she looked around her. She was near the edge of the square, a market, it looked like. It was filled with people, both Men and Dwarves, and _are those Dwarrowdams?_ She ducked through the crowd to take a closer look, and stopped just in front of the women. They were, in fact, Dwarrowdams, and wearing clothing and jewelry finer than Bella had seen anywhere but the dream of the baby. Their clothes were a bit old-fashioned, though, much as in the aforementioned dream. She observed them for a moment, noting their beards, and realized that Kítos was probably quite thin for a Dam. Even Bofur looked curvier than her, although neither held a candle to these Dams. _And if these are the sorts of hairstyles Dwarrowdams are meant to wear, I’m glad we’ve been traveling; I’d probably fall over if I had so many ornaments._

 _I’m in Dale_. Bella’s eyes widened and she looked around, finally climbing onto a cart to see over the buildings and saw Erebor towering over her, massive gates shining in the sunlight, two stone guards kneeling on either side. All her breath left her at the sight. _How… how can that be so beautiful?_ She could see tiny figures moving on top of the gates, too far away for her to recognize anything beside their presence. A faint noise reached her, and she looked down to see the crowds parting before a small procession of Dwarves. _Whoops. Pun not intended_. Surrounded by Men and their buildings as she was, it was impossible not to recognize how she, and the Dwarves, of course, were tiny in comparison. _Well,_ _I’m_ _tiny. They’re just small_. But even though they were short enough that she probably wouldn’t have been able to see them if she’d been on the ground, the Dwarves were somehow more commanding than any of the Men in the area. There were three of them in the middle, with Guards before and behind them. _No, four_. The woman was holding an infant, while the man was letting a small boy ride on his shoulders. 

The Dwarf with the boy on his shoulders was the same tattooed nobleman _nobledwarf?_ from the dream of the baby, with the same circlet settled in his dark hair. His beard was a little longer now, as was hers. She looked much the same, as well, although she was wearing a different circlet than before. Her hair was lighter than her husband’s _?_ , but the boy’s was dark. _It’s the same boy._ Bella’s eyes fell to the infant. _And that must be the fair boy he was playing with later, and the girl hasn’t been born yet_. She was too far away to see any details of their faces, although she tried. _He’s familiar, he’s always familiar, he always makes me think of Kíli, and his father looked like someone, too_. Try as she might, Bella couldn’t remember who. They left the courtyard, and Bella found a moderately comfortable niche to sit in while she thought. 

_How can I be dreaming of Dale? It was destroyed years ago, that’s what Balin said, and Erebor with it. When Smaug came. So how can I be dreaming of either? Obviously, if this is Dale and that’s the same boy as I’ve been dreaming of for months, the dreams of him playing and such were of Erebor, but I’ve never even seen either, except for that glimpse from Mirkwood. I can’t be imagining all this, my normal dreams are never this realistic. And there’s never sound. Well, no, there’s sound, but no words. Normally, my dreams are filled with words, if only begging and taunts. This… it almost makes me think of when I would dream of the Shire, in the Camps; everything’s peaceful, everyone’s happy. That was how I remembered it, an— Remembering…_

Heart skipping a beat, she stiffened. _These… no, these can’t be Ralenns, they can’t… but they are, aren’t they? But whose?_ Bella rolled her eyes at herself. _The boy’s, obviously. But who is he? He would have had to have been alive when Erebor fell, to have so many memories of it. But how can my Voshel be a Dwarf?!? How is that even possible?!_ She let her head fall back against the roof with a thud. _I thought he would be a Hobbit, if I had one at all. I thought… I thought I was too broken._ Her breath hitched as she finally admitted it to herself. _I thought Yavanna would never grace an orphaned slave with a Voshel._ She clenched her jaw. _Former_ _slave. I’m not letting Azog have any control over me, not anymore, and not inside my own head. But that’s what I thought. And I was wrong. I was wrong._ She started to laugh, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. Grinning so broadly that even her dream-self’s cheeks hurt, she stared at the gates of Erebor. _I was wrong, and I’ve never been so happy to be so. But who? He has to be part of the Company. That dream the night before we left Rivendell, the boy was there. He looked older than in most of the dreams, except for the one where he was sitting with the other boy, the coarse one. He looked familiar too, like… who?_

Bella scanned through her memories, trying to remember who in the Company had mentioned being in Erebor— _Dwalin. After the Carrock, Dwalin said he was in Erebor, that he was around twenty-five, and so was_ — Her heart nearly stopped, and the name that breathlessly left her lips was halfway between prayer and praise. “Thorin.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Bella figures it out!  
> Really, the only noteworthy thing in here (as far as I can tell) is the reason this is practically the first time Bella's realized she's dreaming: This is the first time she's been both 1. emotionally/psychologically healthy enough, and 2. completely free of Mirkwood.  
> Fallout next chapter. À bientôt!


	47. Hadedzachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BABY!!!!!!!!!! I'M AN AUNT! (again!) Have an update!

_Thorin is my Voshel._ She smiled wryly. _Thorin Broodyface McMajestic Oakenshield is my Voshel. But am I his Va— No, of course I am. There’s a reason it’s called a ‘Pair’; it’s impossible for it to be one-sided. But Dwarves don’t have Pairs, they have Ones. Can Hobbits? Can he be my One if I’m not a Dwarf? Can I be his? Given that we’re Paired, does it matter? And what about the differences between us: will I live as long as he will? Pairs never die separately, I know that, but will I age with him or will he age with me? And has he been having Ralenns?_

 _Actually, is that how he’s been helping with my nightmares? The Zhauthiet isn’t especially strong yet, but it’s still noticeable, not that I ever did. Maybe… maybe that’s why he could help. It’s definitely why he had to help in Mirkwood. It’s why he kept me in the present. I could never dream him up; even if I did, he wouldn’t feel the same. Oh._ She flushed. _That’s why I keep wanting him to touch me._ She covered her eyes with a groan. _Great. Now it’s going to be even harder to keep my hands off of him. And it’ll be impossible if I do anything more intim—_ Her blush deepened. 

 _Well, anything like that is going to have to wait until after Smaug, at least. Especially since I don’t even know anything about Dwarven weddings. Do they have a ceremony, like Men do? It sounds overly complicated, but if that’s what they do, I’d better go along with it; I’d rather not be accused of seducing the King, or being his mistress or anything like that. I doubt he’ll mind doing a Hobbit wedding, as well. It’s not like it would be out of our way. What am I thinking?! I don’t even know if he_ _wants_ _to marry me yet!_ Groaning again, she rolled over to hide her face in her pillow. _And now I just want to kiss him! Stupid hormones. Stupid gorgeous Thorin. Stupid dragon keeping me from snogging my stupidly strong Voshel with his stupid perfect face— No!_ _No_ _snogging until the wedding._ She growled. _And the stupid wedding’s not going to be for weeks, at least._

Someone poked her in the side. “You all right, Bella?” _Fine, Kítos, other than the fact that I’m Paired to, quite possibly,_ _the_ _most attractive Man/Dwarf/Hobbit/Elf/_ _anything_ _in Middle-Earth, and I can’t have my hands all over him like I want to, not until— Smaug._

Her eyes shot open and she slowly sat up. When she looked up, Kítos looked even more concerned than she’d sounded, and Bella made the effort to smile. “I’m fine, Ori. But I did just remember something that I need to discuss with my family. Could you have them meet me upstairs?” As the Dwarrowdam nodded and hurried off, Bella pushed to her feet, moving smoothly through the stiffness as she had on the Carrock. Tauriel came down the stairs as Bella approached them, and she smiled at the Elleth. “Good morning. Would you mind telling Thorin I’d like to speak with him upstairs? Thank you.” 

Ignoring Tauriel’s confusion, she moved upstairs and into the room she knew the rest of the Company had been staying in. The smell of food finally registered, and she realized that the Company was probably sitting down to breakfast. _I probably walked past them and didn’t even see_. Predictably, Fíli and Kíli were the first through the door a few seconds later, and Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin followed quickly. Seeing Thorin after her revelations sent a spike of heat through Bella, though his worried expression cooled her marginally. Thorin was the only one who didn’t immediately try and ask what was wrong, but he looked twice as upset as the others.

She smiled reassuringly at them, or hoped she did. “Nothing’s wrong at the moment. I’m sorry for panicking you, but it is important.” Closing her eyes to keep them off of Thorin, if only for a brief moment, she took a deep breath; the Dwarves waited silently. “At least half the reason I was chosen for this quest in the first place was that Smaug doesn’t know the scent of Hobbit.” She opened her eyes and looked at each Dwarf in turn. “Except I don’t smell like a Hobbit, do I? With how cuddly you all are, I probably smell more like a Dwarf than anything else.” To her annoyance, her voice broke and she had to blink hard. Immediately, her brothers rushed forward to embrace her. She chuckled wetly. “See, this is what I mean.” She returned the hug as tears spilled over her cheeks.

“You don’t want us to hold you?” Dwalin sounded almost afraid.

She stifled a weak sob, trying to turn it into a laugh. “Wanting has nothing to do with it, trust me. If I had my way, I’d never let go of any of you,” _especially Thorin_ , “but I’m not sure how much choice we have.” Wiping roughly at her cheeks, she steeled her tone. “If I smell like a Dwarf, I doubt I’ll make it five seconds before he eats me. After we leave Lake-Town, that has to be it; no more hugging, no more cuddling,” _no snogging,_ “nothing.”

Balin spoke, cautiously apprehensive. “What about your dreams?” She lifted her head, and realized that Thorin looked terrified for her, as he had at Beorn’s, only more so. Her heart wrenched, and if her brothers hadn’t been holding her, she would have flown to his side, would have begged him not to worry, would have kissed him until fear was the last thing on his mind, Dwarven wedding or no.

As it was, she kept her eyes on his as she answered Balin, hoping that that would be enough. “If they’re like they used to be, I’ll live.” Thorin flinched minutely. _No, that was supposed to help!_ “And if they’re worse, I doubt touching my hair will leave enough of a scent to be dangerous.” She smiled gently as she finished, and Thorin’s expression, while he was still frowning, did soften somewhat. 

Balin nodded solemnly. “Aye, Nuthanuthê. It’s a wise precaution.” _Nutha-what?_ Her father walked over to her to press his forehead gently against hers, and whispered, “My little girl.” As her eyes watered and she smiled, he kissed her cheek, then left the room, Thorin moving aside to let him to the door. Dwalin gathered her into a bearhug as her brothers filed out, and a moment later, she and Thorin were alone in the room.

Moving slowly, _as if I’d ever not want him to hold me_ , he approached her, wrapping his arms lightly around her. _Mahogany and Oak_. She smiled and clasped her hands behind him, letting them rest at the small of his back. With how he bent over her, just slightly, to rest his chin on her head, how she could hear his heartbeat _and feel mine_ slow until it _/they_ was _/were_ languid and comfortable, how she felt as though his heat was surrounding her, as though he were her entire world, for a few moments, she let herself forget everything looming on the horizon. For those seconds, there was no Lake-Town, no Mirkwood, no Smaug, and no Azog; there was only the Pair of them. But all things end, and, with a sigh, she came back to the present.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” His voice rumbled in his chest and through her, and she smiled a little wider. _I missed that_.

“Yes. I might not be as well-rested as I could be by Durin’s Day, but I genuinely don’t think the nightmares will be as bad as in Mirkwood. They might even be better than under the Carrock.” 

He didn't move. “But…?” She huffed, half-smiling. _I know you’re perceptive, but how do you read my mind like that?_

“But…” She tightened her arms around him a fraction, and shed some of her tension when he immediately responded in kind. “… Bard said that the Master is greedy, didn’t he?”

He shifted slightly, confusion obvious in his voice. “Yes. And that he cares nothing for his people.”

“Which would make him relatively easy to manipulate.” After a brief hesitation, he drew back, frowning, just enough to meet her pleading eyes. “I meant what I said yesterday. I feel wretched for asking so much of Bard when his family’s barely getting by.”

“We can repay him—”

“After Smaug is dealt with, yes, but what about now? What if—” _We all die?_ “What if the treasure in Erebor isn’t as valuable as we think it will be? Then Bard and his children will have nothing. They could starve.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, eyes boring into hers, and his arms tightened a fraction further as he asked, somewhat uncertainly, “What would you suggest?” 

“We make a deal with the Master. If the legends are true about Erebor, giving him twenty, or even thirty times his weight in gold wouldn’t put a dent in my share of the treasure, and he would have an easier time restocking his larders than anyone else in the town.” Shaking his head, he began to speak, but she cut him off. “I don’t care about the gold, I never have. I’d’ve done all of this even if my only reward were seeing you in Erebor. But the contract specified that I receive one-fourteenth of the treasure, to do with as I wish, and I wish to use it to secure food for the Company.”

His eyes softened, darkening, and her heart began to beat a little faster. His hands had dropped to her waist at some point, and now drifted down to bracket her hips, heat bleeding through the fabric and winding around her waist. “Nisullakan asti amhul, Zabdûnaê.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but she still felt it in every bone in her body, still shivered at the sound, even if she didn’t understand the words. He started to lean down, and her eyes fell to his lips. “Ze’ê.” He was getting closer, beard nearly brushing her skin, lips almost touching hers— _DRAGON NO WEDDING_

She pushed him away, pulse racing, eyes wide, and spun around so that she didn’t have to see the hurt in his eyes. “I can’t— I’m sorry, j— not—”

The door opened and Fíli’s voice rang over the blood roaring in her ears. “Silly me, I forgot Bard was asking for you, Uncle. Don’t you think you should go talk to him? Now?” There was an impressive amount of steel in her brother’s voice, but she didn’t turn around until the door closed behind one retreating set of footsteps and Fíli laid one cautious hand on her shoulder. “Nan’ith? Are you alright?”

She started to laugh, a little hysterically, and bit it back, but couldn’t stop the equally hysterical ranting. “Oh, fine, Undad, why wouldn’t I be, I’ve just got a King for a Voshel, an Orc hunting me, a bloody dragon waiting for me, and not only all those, I’m also in a town built entirely on bloody water. What kind of people build a town on water, anyway? Bloody mad people, that’s who, water should be kept in wells and springs and puddles, not in bloody great lakes that are just waiting for unsuspecting Hobbits to bumble over the edge and drown, and—” He pulled her into a tight hug, and she melted into it.

There was a laugh in his voice, though it didn’t erase the concern. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear quite that much, especially in a single breath.” She chuckled weakly and clutched him a little tighter. “So, do you want to tell me why you’re so upset, and why being Paired with my uncle is such a bad thing?”

Although it was muffled in his shoulder, she huffed. “Since when do you know what being Paired is?”

“Since Balin had Kíli and I read the transcript of the conversation when you explained it to him. I take it you left some things out?” After a minute of silence, he tilted her head up to meet her eyes. “Why can't you just tell him how you feel?”

“It—” She broke off, frustrated, and pushed him over and down so that they could sit with their backs against the bed. “It’s not that simple.” Leaning her head against his arm, she took a moment to gather her thoughts.

“Why not?”

She growled and shifted so that she was sitting a little farther away from him. “Because right now, just hearing him talk to Dwalin down the hall, I’m having trouble not running towards his stupid, irresistible voice and snogging him senseless, and if I give him any reason to think I’m interested, especially telling him that he’s my Voshel, and I assume my One, but I’m not sure about that part since I’m a Hobbit, he’s going to kiss me, and if he kisses me, I’m not going to stop kissing him until, probably, next year!”

Looking extremely uncomfortable, Fíli cleared his throat. “A, uh, slight exaggeration?”

She glared at him, one eyebrow raised. “What do you think?” When his only reaction was to turn slightly green, she sighed and hid her face against his arm. “If ‘grazing’ was the only noteworthy thing about Hobbits, Beorn probably would’ve called me ‘little calf’, or ‘foal’, or ‘lamb’ or something. I don’t know how Dwarves go about… ‘things’,” she ignored how he stiffened, and how hot her face was growing, “and Hobbits may be monogamous, but we’re about the furthest things from prudes. Once we start to behave romantically, it’s almost impossible for us to stop until we’re married, and when we’re Paired, it’s even worse.”

“So,” he squeaked, “you’re not sure Uncle wants to marry you?”

She huffed. “With how he’s been looking at me, I don’t think that’s in any doubt.”

“Then why would it be a bad thing? We don’t have to leave for Erebor for a few weeks, I think. It wouldn’t be much of a honeymoon, but it would be something.”

Raising her head slowly, she made sure he was looking at her before speaking. “UnPaired Hobbits typically need at least three weeks to be able to behave themselves in public. Pairs, at a minimum, need two months. Trying to get any newlyweds to think about anything but their spouse and/or their bedroom is completely useless for at least that long.” Her brother’s face was as red as hers felt. She dropped her head again to his shoulder. “Believe me, I wish I was exaggerating. It would make things much easier if I could either marry him now and be battle-ready by Durin’s Day, or ignore him completely until all this is over.”

“But— You— Food?”

She chuckled slightly at his confusion; footsteps went past the door and down the stairs. “Traditionally, some relative, usually female but there have been exceptions, has to cook and provide food for the newlyweds during the honeymoon. That rather dubious honor would have been mine for Primula’s wedding. Can’t say I’m sorry I missed it.”

“The wedding, how…?”

“The Voshel, or groom, if they’re unPaired, prepares a home for the two of them, he escorts her there for the wedding night, and the next morning, their families celebrate the marriage with a feast.”

“But how are they married?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, when a boy Hobbit and a girl Hobbit love each other very much—”

He cut her off with a nauseated groan. “But that’s it?”

She shrugged. “What else is there? I know Men have some kind of ceremony, but when two Hobbits disappear together for weeks, even if they didn’t technically court, it’s impossible not to notice.”

“Bella—” He ran a hand over his face, growling slightly. “With Dwarrow, there’s a huge ceremony, especially if one, or both, in this case, are high-born.”

She shook her head. “I’m not—”

“Even if you weren’t the niece of the Thain, you’re still a Princess of Erebor, remember?” He tapped his bead in her hair. “You’ll have all the same honors and rights as Kíli and I, which includes a wedding fit for royalty. Although,” he mused, “Since it’ll take a few months for the Dwarrow from Ered Luin to get here once we reclaim the mountain, we could see about having a small service soon, and a full ceremony once everyone else arrives.”

Hearing Thorin’s voice from downstairs, Bella thought of how close they’d come to kissing earlier, and groaned, letting her head fall back against the bed. “I think that would be best.” _I don’t think I can wait a few months_. Her brow furrowed as she remembered his words. “Fíli? I can’t remember all of what he said, but just before you came in, Thorin said something like zay-uh? What did he mean?” 

Fíli’s eyebrows shot up, and he snickered. “I doubt he would have said it if he’d known you’d ask, but…” He smiled warmly at her. “Ze’ê means ‘my One’.” 

Her eyes widened; warmth rolled through her, and she leaned her head against her brother’s arm, smiling widely. “Well, that’s two questions answered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! About to go meet my newest niece! (And see if the former youngest has realized she's not the baby of the family anymore. Although, she does enjoy bossing people around. She'll probably be a good big sister.)
> 
> Oh, right, I should talk about the actual chapter. Ok, so fics where (fem!)Bilbo is super cuddly with the Company literal seconds before going into Erebor annoy me. The entire reason (s)he's there is because (s)he doesn't smell like a Dwarf! Bella had the same thought, so enjoy the angst. (It'll be here a while. *evil grin*)  
> When he was about to kiss her, he said 'Of course you do, my Queen. My One." (I think. I cobbled that sentence together myself, so *shrugs* who knows if I did it right.) The pronunciation is closer to 'zay-eh' than 'zay-uh', but she's still learning, and besides, she was close enough for Fíli to get it. Everything about Hobbit weddings and such is 100% from my imagination (and possibly inspired by a few other fics on here? I can't remember.) so sorry if it seems weird. Oh, and given the fact that it's late September or so (ish), she's absolutely correct when she says she wouldn't stop kissing him until after the new year.  
> Anyway, hope you liked it!  
> À bientôt!


	48. Gimonzachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit of a filler chapter, but necessary.

_I just— I could have— I almost kissed her,_ _Mahal_ _, I wanted to kiss her, and she looked so completely exquisite, and so— scared. She pushed me away, she was frightened of me, I could have hurt her!_ He could still feel her pressed up against him, his skin overly warm where she’d been; could still see her, flushed and trembling and utterly entrancing, almost irresistible when her eyes dropped to his lips and darkened into tantalizing copper. _And I would have kissed her, I would have held her to me and memorized every inch of skin, every shiver and moan and—_ _She pushed me away_ _. She didn’t want me, doesn’t want me, and if she’d waited a second longer, I wouldn’t have been able to let her go, I would have kept her, imprisoned her, and it would’ve been everything I dread_.

Dwalin caught his arm and pulled roughly him into a room down the hall. “What the rukhsul’uslakh was that?!”

Thorin weakly braced himself against the wall as he slid down to sit on the floor. “The reason I asked you to keep me in check.” He was faintly aware of Dwalin sitting next to him, but for the most part, his attention was still a scant minute in the past. “I didn’t think, I couldn’t think, I just—” 

Trailing off, he registered a low, threatening growl, which colored Dwalin’s voice as the warrior spoke, and made him more menacing than Thorin had heard him in years. “Choose your words carefully, ‘ibah. Did you hurt my iraknâtha?”

Listlessly, Thorin shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t touch her, no more than I ever have, but she looked so scared.” He covered his face with one hand, letting his hair fall to cover him as he leaned forward.

Dwalin sighed, the sound still edged with a growl. “Tell me exactly what happened after you didn’t follow me out of the room.”

“I held her. I—” Thorin forced himself to stop and find the right words to explain. “There are times, such as just now, when I feel as though I can’t relax until I have her in my arms. As soon as I do, for a few seconds or minutes or however long I can hold her, I don’t have to worry about her, about Fíli and Kíli, about the Company or Erebor or our people in Ered Luin. I’m completely calm. When she asked us to meet her upstairs, I was afraid that something was wrong, and I couldn’t just walk away from her after that. Then,” he laughed weakly, “she spoke to me about the Company. She’s willing to give up her entire share, if need be, to make sure that neither we nor anyone in Lake-Town starves.” His breath stuttered. “She’s willing to give up everything, for my Company, my people. She…” Slowly, he shook his head. “She is everything I could ask for in a Queen, and far better than I. But when I think of her in Erebor, at my side as Queen, wearing my colors, my beads, it’s all I can do not to claim her there and then.” He let his head fall against the wall with a thud, the dull pain clearing his mind somewhat. “I almost kissed her. I don’t— I don’t know that I would’ve been able to stop.”

“And she was scared?”

“She pushed me away. She looked panicked.” When his friend didn’t respond, Thorin looked over to see Dwalin frowning the way he always did when he was thinking.

Dwalin sighed. “I don’t know why she would’ve been. It could’ve simply been too fast, it could’ve been bad timing, or it could’ve been something only she knows.” He stood and held a hand out to Thorin. “I’ll find out. But if you lay a finger on her in the meantime, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Thorin met his eyes steadily as he rose. “I’ll hold you to that. Don’t let me touch her.” He clenched his jaw. He hadn’t meant the latter to sound so desperate, but he wouldn’t _couldn’t_ deny the truth of it. Seeing her that afraid of him, that frantic to get away, was a thousand times worse than any nightmare. While his mind was clear, he would hold to the oath he’d made before Mirkwood, even if it had been unspoken. He wouldn’t touch her skin again, and wouldn’t touch her at all if he could help it. But sometimes… 

Dwalin and Balin already knew to keep him away from her. When he went downstairs, he would ask Kíli to make the same promise, and Fíli when he got the chance. _And maybe Ori? He’s friends with her. Certainly Dori, that Dwarf could hold a cave-troll back if he needed to. Maybe Bifur, as well, he seems to care for her_. He and Dwalin did their best not to disturb the siblings as they went past the door, but Thorin was sure that she heard them. Fíli stammered something or other as they passed, voice oddly high, but Thorin couldn’t make out either his words or Bella’s when she responded a moment later. Hearing her brought back how she’d pled with him, and he shoved the memory to the back of his mind, shaking his head. 

Dwalin tapped his arm. “Do I need to remind you of what you asked of me?”

Turning to his old friend, Thorin gave him a strained smile. “No. But if you’ll excuse me, I need to discuss something with Balin and Bard.” _The Man’s fed and aided us at his own expense; it’s only right that he be part of the discussion whether or not to unburden him_.

 

Bard had been against the idea of going to the Master, but Thorin had seen the strain in the Man’s face when he spoke of housing them as long as they required. However, Balin had agreed that the Master sounded easily swayed; the rest of the Company had been repelled by the very thought of giving a Man any of their gold. The only reason they’d acquiesced, in the end, had been Bella’s vehement insistence that not only did she think it was a good plan, she was willing to take on the entirety of the debt. Her family had quickly sworn to split it between their shares, and Ori, Nori, and Bifur had offered the same. Balin had drawn up a rough contract, offering the Master forty times his weight in gold in exchange for providing food, shelter, and any supplies the Company requested for the duration of their stay in Lake-Town. Most of the money would be split between Ori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Fíli, Kíli, Balin, and Dwalin, with Bella and Thorin taking the largest portions.

She’d argued with him about that, keeping the table between them as carefully as he was, but had accepted that as leader of the Company, he had the right to bear the brunt of the expense. She hadn’t let him, as Thorin realized when Balin read out the contract later that day; apparently, while neither he nor his advisor were watching, she’d snuck in an addendum that legally required her portion to be of equal size to Thorin’s. He might have thought her father had been aware of the attachment, but Balin never stuttered, never stumbled, and never hesitated during official business. When he reached her addition, he did all three. 

Balin, Fíli, and Thorin had met with the Master alone, while the rest of the Company stayed behind at Bard’s; Dwalin would’ve come, but Bella had nearly passed out while she was yelling at Thorin, and Dwalin hadn’t let go of her since. The Elves had started to fuss over her immediately, and Kíli had sworn to ensure his sister’s safety as his older relatives left, though he hadn’t looked as though he believed it would be necessary. Now, as the three of them returned to Bard’s home, Thorin was glad he’d refused the Master’s offer of an escort.

He slowed their pace, turning to Fíli. “Before we enter, there is something I must discuss with you.” His nephew frowned, but was clearly paying attention. Thorin cleared his throat. “You are… aware of the… incident this morning, of course.”

Fíli smirked. “You could say that.” A nauseated expression briefly crossed his face, but passed quickly.

Clearing his throat again, Thorin stared straight ahead. “It can’t happen again.”

“I’m not sure ‘can’t’ is the right word, maybe ‘will undoubtably’—”

“It can’t!” Blinking at his Uncle’s vehemence, Fíli sobered, meeting Thorin’s eyes warily. “As Bella’s eldest brother, and as Balin has informed me that the two of you will be sharing your duties as head of Bella’s family, it falls to you to ensure that she is chaperoned at all times.”

Fíli shook his head slowly. “I trust my sister completely, Uncle, she would nev—”

“But I would!” Forcing himself to calm down, Thorin came to a full stop, facing his nephew. “I don’t trust myself around her. I could easily hurt her, and I would never be able to live with myself if I did.”

Tilting his head, Fíli frowned. “Uncle, you’re the most honorable Dwarf I’ve ever known.”

“And yet I’ve vowed not to touch her twice already, and broken my oath both times.” Thorin rubbed his face, then stared intently at the Prince. “Balin, Dwalin, and your brother have already promised me this; I ask that you make the same pledge: do not let me touch her under any circumstances, even to alleviate her nightmares.”

Fíli’s eyes widened. “But—”

“She told me that she thinks her dreams will likely be back to what they were in Beorn’s, or around that level. You and Kíli can help her as well as I can.” The last words left a sour taste in his mouth, the blatant lie bringing forth a wince.

Fíli tilted his head again, eyes flicking over Thorin’s face. After several seconds, he solemnly nodded, and clasped Thorin’s arm in his. “I hereby vow to guard my sister against any unwelcome advances, from you or anyone else, and to stand between her and anyone who seeks to dishonor her. Until her wedding, anyway.” Although the last was delivered a tad more lightly than the previous oaths, his eyes were still stone. Thorin felt much of his anxiety ease at the grim promise in his nephew’s expression, though he hadn’t missed that Fíli never said he would keep Thorin from touching her. _Understandable, though, with her nightmares_. The pledge would have been more weighty in Khuzdûl, but there was nothing to be done about that.

When they entered the house, just as the Company was settling down to lunch, Thorin saw Bella almost instantly. She was sitting with Dwalin, laughing at something Bofur’d said, and wearing the fitted shirt from Beorn’s; all Thorin could think of was the way she’d shivered against him, how beautiful she’d looked. He turned away, and it was a long moment before he trusted himself to speak. He grabbed Fíli’s sleeve and motioned to her. “Have her wear Kíli’s tunic again, or your jacket, when we go to the Master’s feast tonight. I don’t trust that Man an inch.” _Or myself_. 

Fíli nodded, moving to sit next to his sister, and muttered something to her that made her roll her eyes and bob her head exaggeratedly; she glanced at Thorin a moment later and crossed her eyes at him, then flushed and looked away. The retraction of the gesture he’d missed so much left a deep ache in Thorin’s chest, but he welcomed the pain. He deserved nothing less, after the way he’d behaved toward her.

The Elven Prince moved to stand next to Thorin, but didn’t speak at first, only watched Bella with a clinical heed. “Tauriel and I must return to the Greenwood.” He silenced Thorin with a gesture toward Bella. “She is recovering well, and in my opinion, only requires time and rest.” His brow furrowed. “We fended off several Orc raiding parties while you were… delayed in our halls. They sought her, didn’t they?”

“And myself. Azog has sworn to eliminate my line.” 

The Elf’s eyes flicked to Fíli and Kíli where they were talking to the Elleth. He turned fully to Thorin. “I cannot support your quest. It is folly, and likely to end in your own deaths, at the very least. But your chosen was right.” A shadow crossed his face as he glanced to Bella. “The Greenwood is not what it was. I have little recollection of it before the darkness spread, but I cannot deny the corruption within. Not anymore. Tauriel and I will return, and do our best to fend off the Defiler’s forces long enough for you to reach the Mountain.”

Thorin’s brows shot up. “You cannot support our quest, but you aid us in it?”

His mouth quirked sardonically as he glanced at his companion. “I have long agreed with Tauriel, despite never voicing it, that the only way to eliminate the blight in our lands is to strike at its source. Smaug’s very existence blights Arda, and so I cannot fully condemn your desire to be rid of him, no matter how unwise I may consider your actions.”

“We do not intend to wake the beast.” The thought of Smaug waking, putting Lake-Town, the Company, Bella in danger sent ice through Thorin's blood.

“As Thror did not intend to bring it in the first.” A spike of anger, tinged by fear, prompted Thorin to glare at the Prince, but he saw no contempt in the Elf's eyes. Instead, there was a deep compassion, and sorrow. _He was there, when Smaug came_. The realization cooled Thorin's anger, and lent new understanding. “Try to be better than your grandfather.”

Legolas moved away to join the party, and so no one heard the faint, weary words that left Thorin's lips. “Every day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so the 'overly warm' thing is because Hobbits are so much colder than Dwarves, so it's just a flip of the usual; Dwalin's 'what the -bleep-' means 'orcish dragon', just about the worst cuss Dwarrow have; ''ibah' means 'least friend', Dwalin's warning him that he's on thin ice, 'iraknâtha' means niece; and yeah. Thorin is a melodramatic guy. But hey, at least Legolas is sort of on their side now. ^u^


	49. Tagerzachem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Lake-Town.

Bella shivered. Her hair was still slightly damp from the bath she'd taken early that morning, and parts of it were escaping the Elven plait she'd arranged it in. Fíli had sat with her while she struggled with it, and tried to give her directions, but the end result was only marginally better than her usual. She'd wished more than anything that she could climb in Dwalin's lap, joke with Kíli while Fíli braided her hair and Balin gave him tips, as they'd made habit in the last three weeks, but she couldn't. They were going to leave Lake-Town, _or Esgaroth? I never did ask Bard what his preference was_ , in a few short minutes, and she would neither touch nor be touched by any member of the Company until Smaug was dealt with, one way or another. She couldn’t _and wouldn’t_ risk everything they’d _Thorin’d_ worked for. She was just glad that Thorin’d insisted on her getting a new jacket; it was far warmer than her mother’s jacket, _and his blue, too_. She saved the old jacket, of course, and mended it until it was as good as new, but at this time of year, it wasn't practical.

They'd been well taken care of, at least. She had to stop herself from grimacing as she thought of their benefactor. The Master was as foul as Bard had described him, if not more so. She'd thought Thorin and Fíli had been overreacting when they insisted she wear her brothers' clothes to the dinner that first night, but after five minutes conversation with the Man, she'd decided to continue the ruse for the duration of their stay. What few women were allowed into the Master's dining room were either servants or 'escorts', and he didn't seem to see any difference. The way he'd leered at them made Bella's skin crawl. The thought of him looking at her that way, especially when he was so much larger than her, made her want to run back to the Shire and move in with Lobelia. _Or to Thorin, he's strong enough to keep the Master away, and he probably wouldn't mind if I needed to stay with him, just to calm my nerves, and maybe hold him, too, and_ — 

Bella cut herself off. Thorin hadn't come within three feet of her since their almost-kiss, or spent more than five minutes in a room with her outside of meals. They hadn't been alone at all. Bella was glad for that. Really. But the separation hadn't made it any easier to ignore her attraction toward him; if anything, it made it harder. He never smiled, at least where she could see, and sometimes, he looked so mournful, especially when he looked at her, that she just wanted to run to him and do whatever she could to make him happy, _to talk with him like they used to, to fling herself in his arms, to k_ — Which was exactly why she couldn't. Thinking about all the things she'd like to do to him didn't make it any easier to hold herself back. She hadn't allowed herself to think of him as anything other than her leader, but the memory of that embrace hadn't faded at all. _If it had been any other place, any other time, any other situation_...

Her family had been happy to distract her, and resumed her training a few days after leaving Bard's house. Dwalin had shown her more than a few tricks Fíli didn't know, though Balin was often busy with Thorin while they were sparring. Still, even after gaining back all of the weight she'd lost in Mirkwood, and some of what she'd lost before then, she was small, quick, and strong enough to dodge Dwalin and surprise her brothers. She couldn't beat them in an even fight, of course, they were much too strong for that. However, between the four of them, she'd worked out the beginnings of a style of her own, that used her own strengths as well as every dirty trick in the book. 

When she wasn't sparring or training, she spent time with Kítos. Early on, on a day when Bella had been exhausted by training with Dwalin, she'd sighed. “Why does that Dwarf have to be so fast? And no, of course he can't go easy on his niece, that would be ridiculous, I should be grateful to train with him.”

“Yes, you should!” Kítos had turned an impressive shade of red, although Bella couldn't tell whether it was from embarrassment or indignation. “He's the best fighter in the Company, and in Ered Luin, and probably in the Iron Hills, too!” 

Bella'd stared at her for a moment before grinning. “Reeaaally.” _Definitely embarrassed_. “You seem quick to defend him.” The Dwarrowdam had averted her eyes. “Oh, don't be bashful, it's understandable!”

She'd looked up hopefully. “Really?”

“Of course.” Bella'd nodded decisively. “After all, it's exactly what I would do if someone said that about Thorin.”

Kítos had blushed even further, and refused to speak to her until the next day, when she, shyly, asked Bella if Dwalin was as kind as he seemed. Bella had happily played messenger for several days before arranging for the two of them to sit next to each other at dinner. Of course, she then had to actually get them to talk to each other, but that was relatively easy. It was complicated somewhat by two facts: Kítos didn't know Dwalin knew she was a woman, and Dwalin thought she was intimidated by him. Neither one of them wanted to begin anything while the Mountain still had to be dealt with, which Bella understood very well, so they were still pretending not to be interested in one another. They were both such terrible actors that Bella almost couldn't believe neither of them realized the other loved them back, but she listened to them both, individually, bemoan the other's complete lack of affection often enough to know that they really were that oblivious. _They're talking to each other, at least, and growing to be friends_.

Despite how besotted Kítos was, she and Bella did talk about things other than the Dwarves in their lives. She was fascinated, if somewhat prudish, by Bella's standards, to hear the details of Pairs that Bella'd been too shy to tell her at the beginning of their journey. Now, although they were both bright red and Bella stuttered more words than came out clearly, Bella was comfortable enough with her to talk about such things. In return, Kítos had told her more about Ones, and taught her much more Khuzdûl, although Bella was still far from conversant. 

Kítos was the only one Bella told how badly she wanted to touch Thorin again, and how tactile Hobbits were. Bella'd never thought about it before: she never had to before the Fell Winter, it had been out of her hands in the Camps, and its absence had been a part of life until her brothers got to her. But Hobbits needed to be touched. It was as natural as breathing to hold hands with friends, to kiss a relative on the cheek, to snuggle with parents and siblings. Until Primula had embraced her just before she left, she hadn’t been touched affectionately, and returned it, for nearly twenty years. Then, it was weeks until Kíli started to reach out, and weeks until she could return it, just after the Trolls. It was probably that and the boys’ carrying her into Rivendell, as much as anything else, that led to her attraction to them shifting into familial love.

According to Kítos, though, Bella’s family were unusual by Dwarven standards; Balin’s subdued displays were much more typical. _At least I mostly got clingy ones_. But, Bella realized soon after that, the lack of contact in the Dungeons of Mirkwood had probably made her condition all the worse; all it had taken was being held by Thorin for a few minutes to restore much of her lucidity. She hadn’t told Kítos that. Perhaps the Dwarrowdam would figure it out for herself, but until she did, Bella would hold her tongue. The next few weeks would be hard, even if her nightmares didn’t return, and would be abject misery if she were right about the Dungeons. 

Even if she told them, Kítos could only fret, her family only worry, and Thorin… She wasn’t sure how he’d react if she told him. Would he be angry that they were in this situation, would he be worried, would he be even more despondent? She had a feeling he’d be all three, but there was no way to know, not really, without talking to him herself. She didn’t doubt that he loved her, but she’d realized over these weeks that she didn’t really know him. She was having more Ralenns than ever, and was learning more and more about him, but they were meant to be supplementaries, not biographies. If she had the choice, between Ralenns and being able to talk to him like she wanted to, she’d choose him. But even the thought of being close enough to him to hold a conversation made her heart beat faster, and, reluctantly, she accepted that she couldn’t tell him, either.

And now she was standing on a dock with the Company, the wind over the waves drowning out the Master’s droning, and wishing desperately that she could lean against her brothers. Every time she caught sight of the water below them, as always in this dratted town, her stomach dropped and she had to fight down the instinctive conviction that she needed to get to solid ground now, and that if she didn’t, she’d get pushed over the edge, or pulled into the water, or the boat or dock or something would crack open and she’d fall in. In Bard’s house, and the Master’s dwelling, if she couldn’t see the water, she’d been fine as long as there was enough ambient noise to cover the sound of waves. Out in the open, she felt as though she were hanging from the cliff in the Misty Mountains again. It was irrational, she knew that, but the knowing didn’t help. It just made it all the more infuriating that she couldn’t stop flinching away from the edge.

She was standing in the midst of the Dwarves, _Dwarrow, Kítos said the plural was Dwarrow_ , and so could see how her family, even Balin, had to keep themselves from reaching out to her whenever she flinched. It was painful, but at the same time, she was glad to see how much they cared. _I’d still rather they could just hold me, though. If it wasn’t for that Valar-Forsaken beast, I’d be listening to Kíli and Dwalin argue over who got to carry me. Fíli’d probably just pick me up and walk off while they were distracted, if Thorin didn’t get to me first. Either way, I’d cross this Queen-cursed lake in the arms of either my family or my Voshel_. She didn’t have to avoid thinking of Thorin doing anything more than holding her; even in ideal circumstances, she was sure that she’d be in no mind for anything untoward. 

Bard had volunteered to ferry the Company to shore, and the Company began to shuffle to it, the Master’s speech apparently done at last. Bella followed them stiffly, trying and failing to keep her eyes on the Dwarv— Dwarrow in front of her. The barge rode high enough in the water that there wasn’t much of a step down, but there was a gap between the dock and the deck. Bella stared at the space for a few seconds before she could force herself to move, blood roaring in her ears. As soon as she was aboard, she stumbled to the middle of the boat and sat, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, closing her eyes and focusing on breathing.

As the barge began to move, an urge to spring to her feet and leap back onto the dock rose, and she gripped her calves in response. Every wave that rocked the boat, minimal as the vessel’s motion may be, forced her to tighten her grip rather than do something profoundly stupid, until she was certain she’d leave bruises.

Bard’s voice cut through the wind, and for a moment she wished it was Thorin speaking. “If you require assistance to the side, Miss Baggins, you’ll have to tell us.”

She spoke as loudly as she was able, but her voice was weak regardless. “I’ve traveled by pony, wagon, Elf, Man, Dwarf, warg, and Eagle. Motion sickness is not my concern.” A larger wave than most nearly sent her toppling over, and she stifled a whimper. 

Kíli’s voice was more strained than she’d heard it anywhere but Mirkwood, and she wondered how well she was hiding her distress. “You fought giant Spiders, and a silly boat ride is troubling you?”

“I can’t swim.” The silence made the waves sound even louder. “There are some Stoors who can, but almost no other Hobbits do. We don’t even like to go into rivers if they’re more than shin-deep.” Internally, she thanked Kítos for teaching her enough Khuzdûl to string together a simple sentence. “I’m a Daughter of Earth, and I have nothing beneath my feet.” She regretted saying it as soon as she finished, for the sake of worrying her family as much as letting Bard hear a few words of their language. But at the same time, she didn’t care. Elves loved the water, Men could adapt to almost anything, even living on a lake, and Dwarrow carried their ties to Mahal with them, in every metal bead, weapon, and ornament. Hobbits had nothing but the ground beneath their feet, or, in a pinch, the pony or horse. The only reason some Hobbits, Bella included, could stomach using Buckleberry Ferry was that there were always either other Hobbits or animals to tie them to the Earth. Having nothing but dead wood to support them was barely better than having nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That 'instinctive conviction' she mentions? Thassalophobia. AKA, the (irrational, in this case) fear of being in large bodies of water, distance from land, or the sea. Not really much else to say this chapter. À bientôt!
> 
> (P.S., [cue the shameless begging] If anyone is interested in betaing [or whatever the verb form is] my next big story, please help! *puppy eyes* It's insanely long and I and Mabmon need help! It's a Merlin fic, but with the level of detail I go into, it really doesn't matter if you're familiar with the fandom or not; I mostly just need help with internal continuity and such. Pretty please?)


	50. Ganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst and rambling. As per usual.

The rest of the journey across the lake passed in silence, and the instant Bard told them it was safe to disembark, Bella shot to her feet and leapt to shore, not fully conscious of her movements until she had scrambled onto dry ground. It was rocky and covered with weeds, but kneeling, curled over her legs with her head resting on the earth as her heart slowed, she felt oddly at peace. Not completely, but better than on the water. “If any of you try to take me off of solid ground again, I’ll pull out your beards one hair at a time.” Nearly boneless in her relief, she half rolled, half flopped onto her back, eyes closed. Footsteps stopped near her. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

“What are you saying?” She opened her eyes to see Bifur frowning at her, clearly concerned. It took her a moment to realize that his words had sounded strange because he was speaking in Khuzdûl, and another moment to realize she’d been speaking in Hobbitish.

She flushed, but didn’t sit up. “I’m—” She stopped and made sure she was speaking in Westron before continuing. “I’m sorry.” She smiled apologetically at him. “Downsides of being polylingual, I guess. I said that I’m fine, but I think I’ll need a minute before I can keep moving.”

He sat beside her and looked out at the water. “Earth under your feet helps?” She smiled ruefully. He was always careful not to use words that were too complicated for her limited knowledge of the language, but sometimes she wished he would challenge her a little more.

“Hugely.”

“Why?” The question took her off guard. She raised her head just enough to glance around, and saw that Bard was still in earshot, talking to Thorin. Bifur followed her eyes, then nodded at her.

As Bard moved toward his boat, she sat up stiffly and called to him, “Thank you for all your help.”

He turned just enough to smile sadly at her. “I wish I could have helped more.”

“You helped tremendously. I don’t know where we’d be if you hadn’t.” He only shook his head and waded to his vessel. She laid down again and turned her head to examine the plants poking out of the rocks. They were similar to a few species she could think of, but were… different, somehow. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it unnerved her.

They moved out a few minutes later, and Bella suspected they _Thorin_ might have been stalling to give her a little extra time to recover. The journey that day was reminiscent of traveling to the Misty Mountains, and no one spoke until they set up camp that evening. Bella’d thought about it, several times, but there was something in the air, or the soil, the same as had been in the plants earlier, that seemed to warn her not to draw attention to herself.

Finally, that night, Bifur sat a couple feet away and simply waited for her to explain. She cleared her throat; most of the Dwarrrow immediately moved closer, the others following after she began to speak. “I’m not sure how to describe it.” She was addressing Bifur specifically, trying to ignore how closely Thorin was watching her. “I didn’t notice when we were in the river, I suppose I was too busy, but being on the boat, and in Lake-Town, to a lesser degree, it was like…” Humming slightly as she searched for the right words, she lowered her eyes to her legs, staring at the dark bruises she’d left there. “Like suddenly being thrown out into the snow, after never experiencing anything worse than a mild chill before. When I was on solid ground again, it was like going from the snow to a warm hearth, or perhaps like coming home after a long journey.” She smiled, eyes welling up. “That’s it. It was like the day I came home to Bag-End, only…” Her smile fell, and she compared the sensations more directly. “It was exactly like that.”

“Why does that sound like a bad thing?” 

Her eyes snapped up to Balin’s. A muted disquiet settled into her core. “Because it is. Coming home to Bag-End eight years ago was the happiest day I’d had for more than a decade, but it still felt sour without my parents. It felt… It felt like it was hollow.” She smoothed a hand onto the ground, and actually paid attention to the sensation that had been lurking in the background since she disembarked the barge. “The land feels hollow. Or— No, it doesn’t feel hollow, it feels sick. Almost—” _like Mirkwood_. She cut herself off, not wanting to worry her family more, but judging from the Company’s expressions, it was obvious what she’d been about to say. “Well, it’s still better than being on that boat, anyway.”

“How do you know all that, lass?” She quirked an eyebrow at Bofur. _It’s been a while since you called me that_.

As his question registered, all she could do was shrug. “I’m not sure, really. I don’t think any Hobbit’s been in a situation like this since before the Wandering Days, at least.”

Balin sat near Bifur. “You mentioned those before. Could you tell us about them?”

She shrugged again. “I’m not really sure what there is to tell; you were all there when I told Legolas about them, about how we probably left because of Mirkwood, how we lost so many, how it took us centuries to find another place to live. That’s really all there is to it.”

“But you said Anduin was your home.” Kíli looked lost, as did Fíli. “Don’t you want to go back there?” The rest of the Company nodded, supporting the question.

She glanced around the group bemusedly. “Are Dwarrow’s ties to the land so profound?” When none of them did anything more than tilt their heads, she huffed a short laugh; she didn’t have the heart for anything more merry. “Anduin was the home of the Periandi, my ancestors. The Shire is the home of most Hobbits, now, and has been for so long that no one remembers anywhere else. We don’t need to go back to our home, because we’re already there.”

A few of them started to say something, but Kítos interrupted. “What about your home? Is it still in the Shire?”

 _She wasn’t there for that discussion, and I forgot to tell her_. Bella smiled at Kítos, though the expression was probably more sad than she intended. “My home is with my family, of course. Any Hobbit will tell you that family is more important than any single place, no matter how long we’ve lived there. So, where they go,” she met her family’s eyes in turn, “I go.” They all smiled proudly at her, though their eyes were all conspicuously shiny.

 

The next weeks passed in much the same way; the Company rose, ate, walked until sunset, ate, and slept. There was often conversation during mealtimes, but as they grew nearer to the mountain, Bella was more and more distracted. The faint sensation of sickness in the earth grew into a constant, indescribable wrongness. The ground underneath her seemed to waver, sometimes, as though it was in a slightly different position when she set her feet down than when she’d lifted them, and when she laid down at night, her skin crawled and often kept her awake for much longer than normal. Some of that may have been the abrupt shift from near-constant contact to none at all. It was impossible to tell.

Her Ralenns were the one bright spot. She’d heard a few times that Yavanna liked to hold back the best dreams until a Hobbit knew who the subject was, but she’d never really appreciated what that meant. Now that she knew her Voshel was Thorin, ever since that day, he was everywhere in the memories. He was everywhere before, of course, they were his memories, but now it was impossible not to recognize him. She’d only had one or two Ralenns in the last six weeks that were of him as a child; the rest, and she was having at least four a night at this point, were of his life after Erebor. Seeing Thranduil’s cruelty for herself gave her a new hatred for the Elf, and seeing how the Dwarrow starved gave new meaning to the stories of the Wandering Days.

And she saw Azanulbizar. She saw how hopeless it had been from the start. She saw Thror fall, as ignoble in death as he had been in the last years of his life. She saw Thorin’s pain and anguish. She saw Azog, hale and hearty and whole. But she saw Thorin’s victory, short-lived as it proved to be. She saw how he rallied the troops. She saw Azog bleed. She saw Dwalin’s hair, and resolved to punch him as soon as she could do so without breaking her hand. But she hadn’t expected how young they’d been. Thorin and Dwalin hadn’t even been as old as Fíli and Kíli were now, and they’d fought as well as any of the more experienced soldiers. _He was so young_. Looking at him, he’d barely been older than she’d been when she came back to the Shire, and even a little younger than she was now. Somehow, she hadn’t really understood that when Dwalin told her.

But there were happy memories, too, more than were sad. She saw Dís grow up and get married, and eventually have children. She saw Fíli and Kíli’s childhood. But even these, to some extent or another, were tinged by melancholy or bitterness. Thorin, and all the Dwarrow she loved, worked themselves to the bone to ensure that happiness. She couldn’t say for certain about the others, but she saw for herself that Thorin had almost no reward, no relief. He had been King almost since Azanulbizar, and protected his people as fiercely as he did his family. Balin and Dís helped as much as they could, but he had taken the burden willingly, and devoted himself to it completely.

That was a mixed bag, to be honest. There were times when Bella had to keep herself from weeping at the cruelty of it all, at the desolation in his eyes, and wished, if she couldn’t help him herself, that he could find someone or something to distract him. But at the same time, even the brief, admiring glances he sent a few Dwarrowdams before Azanulbizar sent spikes of pain through her. He never did more than glance, and almost never even glanced after the battle, but still, she was never sure whether to be glad of that or not. It was misery to see him looking at other women the way he’d looked at her, but he smiled so rarely that she would have taken the pain if it spared him any. But he never did. 

There were also an inordinate number of Ralenns of him working. making tools and jewelry and such, and if the forge was away from prying eyes, usually shirtless. In the older memories, he took her breath away, and in the more recent, well… she didn’t let herself look at him too long, which only grew more and more difficult as the days went on. In many of those dreams, especially after he became King, there was a harsh light in his eyes, reflecting all the anger and humiliation he held back. She had seen how dangerous he was, seen him fight, and could see for herself, now, how strong he was, but she was never afraid of him. In those Ralenns, she saw his darkness, but she didn’t want to run. She wanted to pull him closer. She wanted to help him forget the pain, and to remind him that there was more to the world than the cruelty of Men. Mostly, she wanted to make certain that he would never look that miserable ever again. 

And so, despite the way the Desolation set her teeth on edge, despite how she ached to reach out to her family, and despite how badly she wanted to run away from the looming mountain as quickly as she could, she stayed. She didn’t speak and laugh with the Company for the most part, but she didn’t complain. She sometimes couldn’t keep up with their pace, but she did everything she could to help in camp. She didn’t want to be there, and every bone in her body screamed at her to save herself while she could, but she was a part of this Company. She had signed a contract; she had taken Fíli, Kíli, Balin, and Dwalin’s beads; she was friends with Kítos and Bifur; she was Paired to Thorin and falling more in love with him every day. They needed her. She wouldn’t leave them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are bi/polylingual, I apologize for undoubtably writing it wrong; I'm barely even fluent in English, let alone three-and-a-half languages like Bella. Also, I really like Bard, can you tell? Also also, you know that word, Azanulbizar? I hate that word. In all the time I've been writing this, I have never *once* been able to spell it without just copying it from somewhere else.  
> Thorin PoV next chapter!  
> À bientôt!


	51. Ze'ganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the last Hobbit myth, 'cause here's another one.

The land was starting to look familiar. Thorin had spent more time outside Erebor than most, which ended up saving his life, in efforts to avoid training with his parents or the diplomatic exercises Balin set for him. Balin had only been a scribe at the time, barely older than Fíli was now, but as the youngest member of the Scribe’s Guild, he’d been the best suited to wrangle the Princes. Thorin had grudgingly liked him, then. He hadn’t been as overbearing as the rest of Thorin’s tutors, but he’d been strict nonetheless. So Thorin would escape whenever he could to roam the mountainside, and brought Frerin and Dís with him sometimes, although they’d bored much more easily than he had. Everything was different now, bare soil where there used to be orchards and forests, the shape of the land visible when it had always been covered before. But the way the land rose and fell was familiar under Thorin’s feet, and there were places where he would stumble, half-expecting his legs to be slightly shorter, and Frerin to be trailing behind him. Thorin would look for him, sometimes, glancing back. He always regretted it.

Bella was suffering. Not as badly as in Mirkwood, and not as obviously as on the boat, but he couldn’t even glimpse her without seeing the strain in her face. She stumbled often, clumsier than he’d ever seen her, even though the ground was level, for the most part. He wished he understood, he wished she didn’t have to be here, he wished that the land wasn’t sick, as she’d said. _It must be Smaug_. The word for dragon was the same as desolation in Khuzdûl, had always been, but Thorin had never had reason before to wonder if maybe it was because dragons caused it. Every hour closer to Erebor, Bella retreated more. He’d worried, at first, that she was relapsing as she had in Mirkwood, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that this was something different. She wasn’t mute. She was holding back. With how vibrant she was, how every detail of her expression seemed to jump at him, it was obvious to him that if she spoke, she’d likely blister all their ears.

The temper she was in didn’t break until the last night of their journey. They had been approaching the Mountain for two and a half weeks, but a little while after dark, they’d finally come within sight of the gates. Thorin had nearly fallen to his knees, a thousand memories of sunlight and family and home inundating him, and those in the Company that remembered Erebor had been much the same. They had stood, drinking in the sight of their long-ago home for how long, Thorin wasn’t sure. The mood was broken by Bella’s hoarse, sardonic voice. “You all remember that I can’t see a bloody thing, don’t you?” 

Most of the Company laughed, surprised at her cuss as much as they were that she’d spoken in Khuzdûl. _Not all that shocking, really. She’s been listening to us talk, uninterrupted, for three weeks. Her vocabulary’s probably tripled_. They’d set up camp quickly, Bella, _as always_ , doing the work of two Dwarrow, at least, once the fire was going. Eventually, everyone finished, but they couldn't rest, not when Erebor was so close. Bifur, unexpectedly, was the one to ask Bella if she could tell them a Hobbit story.

She blinked at him, then at her family and Ori when they chimed in, agreeing with the old warrior. “You want an o-Khazâd story, when your home is right there?”

Kíli laughed. “So tell us a story with Dwarrow in it!” She lowered her eyes, and Kíli’s grin faltered; Thorin moved a little closer. “There are some with Dwarrow, aren’t there?”

She smiled. “A few.” Her expression fell into hesitance. “But I don’t know that I should tell them.”

“I thought you said you didn’t need anyone’s permission.” The disappointment in Ori’s tone was almost tangible, but Bella immediately shook her head.

“It’s not that. I just don’t know that you would like it.” She looked up through her eyelashes nervously. “It might be a bit sacrilegious.” 

Balin began to speak, but Thorin cut him off and met Bella’s eyes. “We will neither think less of you for telling the story, nor of your ancestors for creating it. Go ahead.” He held her eyes for another moment, then she fixed her gaze on the fire. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and when she spoke, it was with the voice and bearing of a storyteller, _of a Queen._  

“You remember that Yavanna created six Hobbits at the start: a Queen-Blessed Pair, a Vána-Favoured Pair, and an Aulë-Chosen Pair. After Eru woke Arda, after the Elves and Men had already found their places, the Hobbits flourished. How many children they had depends on what family the teller is from, and so while my mother maintained that the Vána-Favoured had at least a dozen, my father, Bungo, always said that it was the Queen-Blessed who were the most numerous. But it is agreed that all three Pairs had at least six children each.

“Yavanna often visited her children, in that time, but there came a day when she was troubled. The second generation of Hobbits were grown, and most had already Paired and begun families of their own. But there were still some unmarried among them, all of them girls. Five of the Vána-Favoured, two of the Aulê-Chosen, and one Queen-Blessed. It had saddened Yavanna to see any of her creations alone, but now there was another reason for her low humor. 

“Her husband, being a man, had created the Stone-Born without any thought to their future, and now wept to see their solitude. Yavanna had a solution, but could she ask it of her children? The Hobbits saw her distress, and, once she had told them of her turmoil, insisted that they could help. The Vána-Favoured bachelorettes leapt at the opportunity; the Aulë-Chosen were intrigued, but thought carefully before agreeing to come and see the Stone-Born for themselves; the Queen-Blessed girl didn’t want to go. She was afraid of these men that the Queen described, and afraid to leave her family, everything she’d ever known. But the Queen-Blessed aren’t called such for merely their appearance. Her family saw Yavanna’s compassion for the Stone-Born, and convinced the girl that it was her duty to go, and that nothing would likely come of it and she would return, travel-wearied, but no worse than when she left. Eventually, she recognized her Queen’s anguish, and she consented to go.

“The journey was long, but not hard. The Giver eased the difficulties as best she could, and, as she had also made her children resilient, even the Queen-Blessed Hobbit adapted well to traveling. The first destination was the farthest away, but the easiest matches; one of the Stone-Born was shy, but the other simply presented his work for the Hobbits to examine and waited. The youngest of the Vána-Favoured loved the wild, black hair of the first, and wove flowers into it while he blushed. The two Aulë-Chosen inspected the other’s offering, a stone carving. It was intricate, but rough, and one of the Aulë-Chosen turned away. The other girl, older than her sister, took the Stone-Born’s hand in hers and bade the Giver and Hobbits farewell.

“The next Stone-Born were near their brothers, but still farther than could be easily traveled. The two of them presented their work as the other had, and the Aulë-Chosen studied them both. In one, she saw the same roughness as was in the first, but the other, while less complex, was beautiful, almost elegant, in a way that she’d never seen in lifeless things. She accepted it, and the Stone-Born, and the other hid his disappointment behind an expression as hard as diamonds. One of the Vána-Favoured, the oldest, went to him, trying to break the mask. She chattered about flowers, birds, the sky, the earth, but was discouraged when he didn't respond. As she turned away, she joked that if stone held all his interest, he should carve a wife out of it. He had thought she had pitied him, and the revelation that she’d actually hoped for a reaction was enough to make him laugh, though he also liked the joke. The sound of his laughter echoed through the mountains, and she loved the sound more than any other.

“The next leg of the journey was the longest, but finally, they reached the next two Stone-Born. Two of the Vána-Favoured claimed them on sight, but within a few minutes of conversation, switched suitors. They had assumed that the fiery Stone-Born would be as cheerful as his hair, and that the dark one would be equally subdued. Finding out that their personalties were the other way around was quite a shock to the girls, and all four were much happier once the switch was finished.

“There were only two Hobbits left; one Vána-Favoured, one Queen-Blessed. When asked, Yavanna told them that there was only one more Stone-Born waiting, and the Queen-Blessed was relieved. The Stone-Born weren’t as large or monstrous as she’d feared, but they were still unlike anything she’d ever known, and all were either enthusiastic to the point of being overbearing, or so emotionless she didn’t know what to make of them. It didn’t take long to reach the last Stone-Born, and the Queen-Blessed girl smiled at the thought that she could return home soon, because obviously he would choose the Vána-Favoured. When he came in sight, the Queen-Blessed was shocked. He was taller than any of the other Stone-Born, and broader. His hair was less wild than some, but his face was even fiercer. As he approached, her heart beat faster and louder in her chest until she couldn’t bear it, and she ran behind Yavanna, hiding her face in her skirts. ‘He won’t care’, she told herself. ‘It’ll be even easier for him to choose the Vána-Favoured now, and soon I’ll be home’.

“A strange voice caught her attention. It was deeper than any of the other Stone-Born’s, and smoother than any Hobbits’. He was pleading with her, hidden as she was, asking her to talk to him. He had never met a Hobbit before, of course, and hadn’t expected them to find him frightening. The girl’s fear wounded him, and he sorely wished that she would see him as a protector, rather than a monster. She didn’t respond, at first, but he was persistent, quietly, respectfully imploring her to give him a chance. Slowly, she emerged, and although he was stunned by her beauty, he didn’t falter. She gradually relaxed, and talked with him for some time, finding him to be a good listener as well as storyteller, and kinder than even her own family. Both of them were surprised when they realized that they’d talked for hours, and he took her hand to escort her back to Yavanna, for, you see, she’d told him how badly she wanted to see her home again. So when she asked Yavanna to make her apologies to her family, he couldn’t believe it. But when he asked her why she would want to stay, she simply smiled, and told him that she’d found her new home.

“The last girl, the Vána-Favoured, had no one left to choose, but she didn’t mind. She had never wanted companionship in the same way that her sisters had, and now she was free to travel and explore all she liked. In her travels, she often visited her sisters, and saw for herself how happy they were with their husbands, and vice versa. None of them had expected their children to be Hobbits, but nonetheless, the Stone-Born’s children were either one or the other, not a mix, as occurred between Men and Elves. So, the Explorer saw her sisters and cousins, and found a duty, of a sort, in escorting her Hobbit niblings to the rest of the Hobbits, and her Stone-Bred niblings to the others, and to arrange matches between them, as well. As time passed, her job became less and less important, and eventually the world forgot about the Explorer. But the Tooks never will.” 

Bella blinked at the fire, then seemed to notice the Company’s gobsmacked expressions. “Oh, sorry, I know you probably don’t care about the Explorer, but she was a favorite of my mother’s, and that was always how she ended the story.”

“Lass…” Balin shook himself. Thorin realized his mouth was open slightly, and closed it. “You mean to tell us that Hobbits have a legend about the Seven Fathers, and never said anything to Dwarrow?”

“Seven Fathers? You mean the Stone-Born?” Kíli and a few others couldn't seem to hold back incredulous laughs, and Thorin glared at them.

Ori sat a little closer to Bella while he explained. “The Seven Fathers founded the seven Dwarven lines: Blacklocks, Stonefoots, Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Firebeards, Broadbeams, and Durin began the Longbeards. The descriptions fit.”

Bella looked as speechless as the Company had been, and Fíli took the opportunity to quietly ask, “You didn’t leave out anything about a gift, did you?” Thorin glared at his nephew, but couldn’t help but wait for her answer.

She shook her head, _I should've known_ , but hesitated a moment later as her eyes unfocused. She hummed lowly, and didn’t seem aware that she was gesturing in mid-air, little flicks of her fingers to accompany the thoughts she wasn’t verbalizing. She slowed to a stop. “I… I think maybe I did. Or someone did, anyway. We don’t write down histories like that, it’s too easy for books to be stolen. And really, that story should be told in Hobbitish, there’s so much of the meaning that’s lost in translation, but…” She nodded slowly. “The word in Old Hobbitish for ‘gift’ is almost the same as the word for ‘strength’, and my mother said once that her father always insisted that the Stone-Born had been told by Aulë that Yavanna was bringing them strength, but she’d never thought that was important to the story. Why?” Raising her head, she looked straight at Fíli. “Is it important to Dwarrow?”

Fíli hesitated, but shook his head. “No, I was just curious. There has to be some reason why she’s called the Giver, after all.” _At least he didn’t look at me like Kíli did. She’s too intelligent not to realize he lied, but how do we tell her? How do I tell her?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... any of you catch the slight reveal/foreshadowing? Yes? No? We'll see? Anyway, that word, 'nibling', is an actual word, but it's really rarely used; basically, what 'sibling' is to brother/sister, 'nibling' is to niece/nephew. It ought to be used more than it is, but oh well. But given how big Hobbit families typically are, I really can't imagine that Hobbits wouldn't use it much more often than we do. The strength/gift translation error is slightly inspired by something I read about Cinderella (Cendrillion), that in French, the word for glass is 'verre' and the word for fur is a homophone, 'vair', and I find it amusing how easily that one crucial detail could've been different. Also, is it self-indulgent if I really really like the mythology I wrote myself? Because I think I'm probably going to keep using this in all my future Hobbit AUs, which leads nicely into this: I'm working on another fem!Bilbo story. Anyone who's interested in Betaing, let me know; it's not going to be as long as this one (I think), but I'd still appreciate having more eyes on it, and more people to bounce ideas off of. It's fem!Bilbo/Kíli, if that matters. Anyway, let me know.  
> We're almost to Erebor! EEE! I'm so excited!!!  
> À bientôt!


	52. Nu'ganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves are idiots.

Thorin didn’t really sleep that night. He might have dozed, but he would have remembered any Ralenns he had, so it stood to reason that he simply hadn't slept deeply enough to dream. The rest of the Dwarrow evidently slept just as lightly, as the entire group, with the exception of Bella, rose as soon as Bombur started rattling dishes a few minutes before dawn. Thorin waved off Fíli and Kíli when they moved to wake their sister. He’d noticed, on his watches, that even when her dreams troubled her, they weren’t as bad as the first night he’d seen them. She sometimes woke teary-eyed, but her agitation was caused by the land, not nightmares. Erebor was half a day’s journey away. She could sleep for a few more minutes.

The smell of food was probably what woke her in the end, but she slept a little longer than usual, at least. Thorin set Bella’s bowls down a few feet away from her, but she didn’t move toward them. “How…” He could barely hear her. As he moved to face her, he realized she was staring at Erebor, eyes shining in the dawn-light. She spoke again, no more loudly than before. “How is that so beautiful?” 

Thorin’s heart gave an odd leap in his chest. _I would have thought Elven cities more to her taste, even if she said they were too tall_. Following her eyes to the gates, his mood fell slightly. “They’re broken. They look nothing like they will.”

She shook her head. “Neither does the Shire in winter. It’s still beautiful when everything’s dead and barren, even if it’s more so when everything’s green and growing.” To that, Thorin could only nod and walk away, cursing the tiny spark of hope that flared in his chest. _She pushed me away_ _. She won’t want to stay, no matter what she said before_. 

Once everyone finished eating, they were almost ready to move out when Bella started to walk in the opposite direction. Fíli called out to her, but she didn’t stop moving until she reached the overlook nearby. As Fíli ran after her, the rest of the Company following, Thorin stayed back with Balin and Dwalin, knowing what was over that hill. He’d used to watch Dale from there, when he was a child. He had no desire to see the city as it was now, not until Smaug was dealt with and they could begin the reconstruction. As he watched, Bella sank to one knee, head bowed. The wind carried her voice back every few seconds; she was speaking in another language, the same that she’d used after debarking. _Hobbitish?_

If it was, and Thorin wasn’t sure what else it could be, he knew that it was a huge sign of trust from her. He had never heard of Hobbits having their own language, or mythology, earth-sense, or a settlement in Anduin, for that matter, and he knew now that it was intentional. They guarded their secrets closely, and he’d seen enough in his Ralenns to know that if any of the Company spilled any of the secrets she’d shared with them, she would smile, perhaps with a dose of pity, and inform whoever they’d told that the Company were delusional, or liars, or simply mistaken, and she would do it so convincingly that no one, for a moment, would doubt her. Letting them, and Bard, hear her on the shore had been unintentional, and easily explained away. He knew her intelligence. This was a deliberate decision on her part.

The language switched to Khuzdûl, though again, the wind broke her voice into segments, and Thorin could only recognize a few words here and there, never enough to understand her meaning. He could, however, watch the Company, who were listening to it all and looking more and more shocked with every word. She descended the slope, rejoining the Company serenely. Balin cleared his throat. “Uh, Nuthanuthê?” He gaped for a moment. 

Dwalin broke the silence. “What was that?!”

She smiled sweetly at him. “A plea to Yavanna to restore the land. And,” her smile darkened into something more feral as she looked toward Erebor, “a plea to Mahal for vengeance.” 

As she walked ahead of them, Fíli caught up, still shell-shocked, wide eyes fixed on his sister’s back. “Bloody, painful vengeance. I didn't know she knew half those words.” Thorin couldn't help but imagine her standing over Smaug’s corpse, blood-soaked. _That should not be that attractive_.

 

“Are we sure that this is the right side of the mountain?” They’d been looking for the door for nearly an hour, with no results. Bella was better rested than usual, true, but the ground still seemed to sway under her feet, even more than before. _It’s definitely coming from the mountain. I don’t want to know what it’ll be like when I'm inside_. Looking at Erebor with her own eyes after seeing it so many times in her dreams didn’t help; she felt as though she were still half-asleep, and her eyes seemed to drift over to the statue carved into the mountainside whenever she wasn’t paying attention. It was odd, though, that there would be a statue there. She’d seen, in her Ralenns, that Dwarrow liked to leave their mark wherever they could, but this statue was on its own, and the pattern was just slightly different from the other statues she’d seen. _But how is it different?_ It was starting to be annoying. There was something off about it, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She looked over the statue again, seeing nothing but a few shadows where they shouldn’t b… _Shadows. The blocks, they’re set deeper than the rest, deep enough to climb!_

Thorin was saying something, but she didn't catch his words, focusing instead on clambering up a hill to get a better look at the carving without tripping over her feet. From a higher vantage point, the stairs were much more obvious, and all she could do was grin at them for a long moment. The Dwarrow’s thudding footsteps approached her, stopping a few feet away, except for one. “You have keen eyes, Bella.”

Thorin’s proximity sent a shiver down her spine, the warmth in his low voice bringing heat to her cheeks, and she didn't dare turn around for fear of launching herself at him.

The climb was hard for Bella, the gaps between corners necessitating that she leap to the higher ground, and by the time she reached the plateau, her hands, feet, and shins were scraped raw. Thorin had climbed directly behind her, and she’d seen him start to reach out to her several times over the ascent, especially during the beginning. She craved having him so close, but she also hated it; he was in arms’ reach, and she didn’t dare touch him.

But finally, they reached the top, and Bella leaned against a wall while Thorin ran ahead, more excited than she’d seen him anywhere but his younger memories. “This must be it. The hidden door.” He stood in front of a craggy wall, and held out the key as the Company filed onto the landing. “Let all those who doubted us,” his childlike grin brought an answering smile, albeit much smaller, to Bella’s face, “rue this day!” The Company cheered; Bella could only beam at him, relishing the rare moment of happiness.

While the Company filed past her, Bella opened her pack and took out the bandages, glad that she’d had the foresight to insist on their inclusion. It was quick work to bind her scrapes, especially as most had already stopped bleeding, and she finished just as Thorin moved to the edge of the cliff. “‘The last light of Durin’s Day… will shine upon the keyhole.’” Dwalin was prodding at the wall, and Thorin gestured Nori toward it, as well.

Bella hung back, frowning. _That wasn’t what the map said. It said… it said when the thrush knocks_. From what she could see with a crowd of Dwarrow in front of her, Nori was tapping the stone while Dwalin ran his hands over it. _This isn’t right_.

“We’re losing the light. Come on.” Thorin sounded almost frantic. Dwalin began to kick the wall, as agitated as Thorin, and Bella shook her head helplessly.

“I think…” Nori interrupted her, sniping at Dwalin. The stone seemed to almost be vibrating underneath her, and bracing herself on the wall only served to emphasize the resonation; it reminded her of lying against Thorin while he spoke, the sound reverberating in his chest. The light of the sun was waning, and Thorin thundered at the Company, his words lost in the soundless roar of the stone. “Stop!” A few of the Dwarrow standing closest to her obeyed, but the rest didn’t seem to hear. She was gripping the stone tightly enough to cut through the bandages on her palm, heart pounding. “THORIN!”

The group fell still, and Thorin met her eyes with a look of such desperation that she almost felt as though they were in Mirkwood again. She drew in a ragged breath and felt blood begin to soak into her sleeve.

“Step away from the door.” Dwalin opened his mouth, and she shot a glare at him. “‘The last light of Durin’s Day will shine on the keyhole’, so stop blocking the light. And do you really think that a secret door, a Dwarven-made door at that, could be broken down as if we were in Rivendell? You couldn’t break down the cell door in the dungeons, and you could see where the edges were on that.”

“Nuthanuthê is right.” She appreciated Balin’s encouraging nod, but couldn't return it; she was trying not to grimace at how the stone seemed to buck behind her. “The door’s sealed. It can’t be opened by force. There’s a powerful magic on it.” There were a few seconds of silence as shadow fell over the door.

“No!” The word sounded as if it had been ripped from Thorin’s throat against his will, and he pulled out the map as he stepped closer to the wall. Bella moved closer to him, pulled by the pain in his face, in his voice, and trailing her hands over the rock to keep her balance. “‘The last light of Durin’s Day… will shine upon the keyhole’.” Tears gathered in her eyes at his words. _He shouldn't sound so broken, it’s not right. He’s gone through so much, he’s lost so much, he should be happy. It’s not fair_. He spread his hands helplessly. “That’s what it says.” His voice was thick, and Bella felt a few sympathetic tears streak down her cheeks. He looked around the Company. “What did we miss?” They shook their heads and murmured platitudes, and his expression darkened as he stepped closer to Balin. “What did we miss? Balin?”

Bella had to look away, already nearly unable to stem her tears; watching him any longer would make it impossible. “We’ve lost the light. There’s no more to be done. We had but one chance.” Irrationally, Bella wanted to hit her father; Balin’s voice was steady, betraying no more emotion than a slight disappointment. “Come away, lads. It’s over.” 

The Company fell back to the stairs, and Bella shook her head, wiping at her cheeks. “No.” They didn’t stop, and the only Dwarf who wasn’t moving was Thorin, but his entire air was so dejected that his stillness was no comfort. “No, it can’t be over. We can’t give up, not after everything.” She pushed away from the wall, which still seemed to squirm under her hands, and stumbled into the middle of the landing. Thorin turned toward her, slightly, as he let the key slip through his fingers to clang onto the rocks. The sound froze her even as she watched the map drift down to join its brother. Thorin dodged past her, with as much pain in his eyes as she’d seen in the worst Ralenns. “Thorin,” her tone was half consoling, half pleading, “you can’t give up now.”

He ignored her, though he might simply have been unable to hear her. The clearing looked so much bigger when she was the only one standing on it, the trail of blood she’d left on the stone the only evidence of their presence, and she stepped forward automatically when the wind began to lift one corner of the map. _We can’t give up now. I won’t. I can’t_. She turned to look at where the door should be, and staggered to it as the rock seemed to writhe even more. _The last light of Durin’s Day. This is Durin’s Day, the sun set, it’s so lightless I can hardly bloody see, so what did we miss? It can’t be over, not just like that, so what did we get wrong? This_ _is_ _Durin’s Day, the last light… but the sun isn’t always the last light_. The stone shook underneath her again, this time so badly that she fell backwards, a startled cry leaving her. 

The position left her in the perfect pose to look up as the moon emerged from the cloud cover, illuminating the site in perfect relief. A quiet tapping drew her attention back to the cliff face, and the sight of a bird, _a thrush_ , knocking something against the wall made her want to laugh. The ghostly light moving on the wall stilled her as the stone beneath her quieted, and she rose slowly, but easily. The moonlight almost seemed mystical as it shimmered over all the crags and hollows, including one that she would be willing to swear by Yavanna and Mahal hadn't been there before. A joyous laugh bubbled out of her as she ran to the edge of the cliff. “It’s the light of the moon, you idiots! Come back!” Laughter broke up her words, but her mirth faded as she didn’t see any movement below her. _Aren’t they— Didn’t they hear— Doesn’t matter, where’s the key?! Thorin dropped it, he was standing… he was standing just here, it should bloody be here, where’s the key?!?_

Bella hissed a few curses to Mahal as she spun, desperately searching the rock for the gleam of metal in the moonlight. _If you hadn’t given Dwarrow such good night vision, Yavanna probably would've given it to Hobbits, and this whole mess wouldn't be an issue!_ She glanced up, seeing a cloud edging toward the moon, and her heart pounded. _Nonononono, if we lose the light, we lose our chance, we can’t lose it, why’d we have to lose the bloody key?!?!_ Her foot hit something as she spun again, and time seemed to slow as she watched the glint of moonlight on iron that she’d hunted for so frantically fly over the side of the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing important to point out. I'm just really looking forward to Erebor. (^u^)
> 
> P.S., anyone who wants to Beta my next Hobbit fic, my email address is on my profile.


	53. Gemganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desolation, isolation, and Ring-Bearing do not make for healthy Hobbits.

A heavy boot thudded down, just barely catching the key’s tail. Bella straightened, heart pounding as her eyes trailed up the Dwarf’s leg, his side, until she met Thorin’s eyes. As soon as she did, she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, the urge to hug him, _grab him, kiss him_ , almost overpowering. Slowly, carefully, he bent down and picked up the key, the rest of the Company filing onto the plateau as he did. When he straightened, the silver streaks in his hair nearly glowing in the moonlight, eyes fixed on the metal in his hand, he looked every inch the King, and Bella had to move away, retreating until her back hit the rock wall, to keep from tackling him. She might have thought he’d forgotten she was there, but as he moved to the door, barely two feet away from her, he constantly angled himself so that there was no possibility of contact.

The key slid into the lock perfectly, and Bella could hear the inner workings of the door sliding into place as the key turned, without a single groan, squeak, or anything else that she might have expected from a door that hadn't been opened in at least a century and a half. The final action thudded into place, and Bella found herself watching Thorin. He looked as young as at Azanulbizar, and as afraid. She couldn't look away, but managed to keep from reaching out to him. He rested his hands lightly on the rock at her eye level, and shifted to a stronger stance before pushing the door open. It moved smoothly, but not easily, judging from the exerted grunt he let out.

His expression was almost disbelieving. “Erebor.” Balin moved closer to him, and Bella realized that the rest of the Company was standing where they had been, apparently frozen.

“Thorin.” Her father’s voice held more emotion in one word than she’d heard him use in entire speeches. _This was his home, too_. It was easy to forget, but he, Dwalin, Kítos and her brothers, and Oin and Gloin, they’d all been born here. Thorin turned, and his expression morphed to concern, matching Bella’s, and he laid a hand on Balin’s shoulder before turning back to the doorway. Part of Bella wanted to yell at him to focus more on his friend, on her father, to comfort him like Bella wished she could. The other part couldn't bear to take his attention away from the home he missed so much, that she’d grown to love, too, in his memories of it.

He moved inside, out of Bella’s sight, but she could hear every step he took. “I know these walls.” She covered her mouth, holding back tears. _Yavanna, oh, bloody Mahal, he sounds like I felt to see Bag-End_. Slumping against the wall, she closed her eyes rather than see Kítos and her brother’s concerned expressions, and focused on Thorin’s voice; she didn’t understand the reverence, but the mix of grief and relief, that she remembered all too clearly. “These halls. This stone. You remember it, Balin.” His voice was beginning to echo slightly as he moved deeper into the tunnel or cave or whatever it was, but she didn’t have any trouble hearing him. “Chambers filled with golden light.”

Footsteps moved past Bella as Balin walked through the doorway, his voice more controlled now. “I remember.” The rest of the Company followed him, one at a time. Bella didn’t move. Kítos glanced at her as she passed, but she went in with the others, and soft, reverent murmuring reached Bella.

Gloin’s voice echoed out to her, the tone almost as though he were reciting something. “Herein lies the seventh Kingdom of Durin’s folk.” Wiping away a few stray tears, Bella listened carefully, sensing a weight to Gloin’s words that demanded her full attention. “May the heart of the mountain unite all Dwarves in defense of this home.”

 _Home_. The word seemed to mean different things to the different races; to Elves it was much the same as ‘house’, to Men it was wherever they’d settled, but to Dwarrow it was more than that. It seemed as though it was a combination of heritage, legacy, family, duty, pride, and love of the land that was more intense than anything Hobbits felt. To Hobbits, land was land. It should be cared for, lovingly, but at the end of the day, good farmland was much the same everywhere. And to Hobbits, home was family. Home was safety and happiness, and that could be found almost anywhere, really. A wave of uncertainty shook Bella, and she slid slowly down the wall until she was sitting. _This is_ _their_ _home. They just got it back, what if… what if they decide that a Hobbit doesn’t belong here, that they acted too quickly, inviting a girl they’d barely known four months to live with them? And even if the Company wants me to stay, other Dwarrow won’t; they’ll just see an escaped slave with bloody delusions of grandeur. And I can’t ask the Company to go against them, they’d be their family, their friends, people they’ve known for decades, I can’t ask them to go against them, even if they would want to. And why would they? Why would they choose an o-Khazâd orphan over the people they lov—_

“Bella?” At the sound of Thorin’s voice, the tight, cold feeling that had been growing in her chest as she thought intensified, and for an instant she couldn't breathe. Her head snapped toward the doorway, her hands curling automatically into fists. A spike of pain reminded her of the cut on her palm, and she couldn't hold back a wince. “Bella!”

Thorin charged through the doorway, but stopped just over the threshold, eyes scanning over the clearing for several seconds before he thought to look down. He frowned, mouth falling a hair open in his confusion, and moved to stand in front of her while her family _should I even call them that?_ came through the doorway. She gave them a wan smile, but couldn't hold the expression, and let her eyes fall to her hand. Experimentally, she flexed it a few times, but the only results were more pain and blood that was beginning to soak the bandages.

Thorin crouched, and one of the others, _Kíli?_ , copied him; she could see their feet and knees with her head bowed, but couldn't bring herself to meet their eyes. “Bella,” Thorin sounded as though he were talking to a spooked animal; she wasn't sure whether or not that annoyed her. “Why are you out here?”

She shrugged, but still kept her eyes on her hand. “It didn’t really seem like a moment for o-Khazâd, that’s all.” Her hand was beginning to shake. She tried to make it stop, but it wouldn’t.

One of her family, she couldn't hear which, but it wasn’t Thorin or Kíli, choked, while Kíli gave a small sigh with the same edge of frustrated helplessness as had been in both her brothers’ faces the night they adopted her. “You’re not o-Khazâd, Bella. You’re a Princess of Erebor—”

“But I’m not a Dwarf!” She lowered her head again, feeling tears build behind her eyes and unable to take the anxiety in her family’s faces, and Thorin’s. They were all as dear to her as her parents had been, as Primula was, and the thought of having to leave them made her hand shake even more. She tried to steady it with the other, but that was shaking, too. She laid both on her legs, ignoring the pain. “I’m a Hobbit, and nothing can change that. I don’t belong here.” 

Her voice broke, and she drew up her knees to wrap her arms around them, remembering doing the same on the boat. She’d felt disconnected from everything that made her who she was, and she felt the same now. Somehow, being divorced from the earth had been more bearable than this. A twitch of movement caught her eye; Thorin had done something, or started to: she hadn’t seen what, just his hand as he pulled it back. Her pack landed in front of her, and she looked up, startled. Oin was standing at the edge of the group, his usual glower tinged with something sorrowful. “Before you shout at me, the only bit I touched was the strap. As long as you avoid that, there won’t be any transference. Bind up your hand.”

Her eyes widened as she realized he was worried about her, and she pulled out the roll of bandages without complaint, guilt filling her for ruining his victory, the Company’s victory. “Stop that.” Kíli’s voice was oddly strangled, and she met his gaze to see that he was watery-eyed. “Stop thinking that it’s your fault that we care about you.” She flushed and began peeling off the dressing on her hand, head down. “How many— Bella, you are a Hobbit, and you are a member of Durin’s line, now. It doesn’t matter that you aren’t a Dwarf, and you belong here as much as we do, so stop—” At the edge of her vision, she could see his hands moving, frustration in every gesture, and guessed that he was only silent now because words failed him.

She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, still looking down, and cursed how her voice cracked as she spoke. “You shouldn't be out here, you should be inside, you’ve been waiting for this for years. It means everything to you, I know it does.”

“You mean everything to us, nan’ith!” Fíli’s exclamation made her wince, heartfelt as she could tell it was.

“What cause have we given you to doubt us?” Fresh tears spilled at Dwalin’s hurt tone.

Thorin’s voice was low, and far more sympathetic than she could handle at the moment. “None. It’s not us she doubts. Is it, Bella?” He moved, leaning forward so that he was kneeling, and she flinched back. “Bella…” As he sighed, she focused on wrapping her palm. “Bella, look up. Look up at me.” She couldn’t. Even as one part of her was screaming at herself to look, to see for herself how much they cared, the rest held her head down, alternately convinced that she would see only apathy or that whatever they felt for her now would fade once they didn't need her anymore.

As she stowed the roll of bandages back in her pack, Balin took a small step closer to her, then sighed. “You needn’t go if you don’t want to. There’s no dishonor in turning back.”

She shook her head, a wry, broken smile twisting her lips up. “Yes. There is. I gave you my word that I would see this through.” Raising her head, she met her father’s eyes for a split second before looking away, fixing her eyes on the doorway. “And a Baggins always keeps her word.” She pushed to her feet, taking stock of her condition. _Not sure I could write with my hand injured, but I can hold Sting. Legs are bloody sore, but fine, and feet will be alright as long as I’m not in there all night_. In a way, being so upset helped; her fear of the dragon, of Smaug, barely registered in comparison to the gnawing feeling currently bringing tears to her eyes. She blinked rapidly, and took a deep breath as her vision cleared. Just as she had in Rivendell, she locked down her emotions, restraining them tightly enough, she hoped, that she could look at her father without any of her turmoil showing in her face or voice. “What am I looking for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone catch the (BBC) North and South reference? It is miniseries only, to give you a tiny clue if you missed it. Seriously, though, if you haven't seen that, you NEED to, if only for Richard Armitage being the lead in a romantic drama.   
> Speaking of things you all NEED to do, go read Bilba and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by ISeeFire. READ IT. It is amazing, and fluffy, and cracky, and completely freaking hilarious (seriously, I've read it like two hundred times and I crack up every. single. time.) and it's criminal that it has so few views. Goooo reeeaaaad iiiiiit. Why are you still reading this? Especially since, as I said, it's amazingly fluffy and uh, this? This story that you're reading now? Literally no fluff for the next ten chapters. I'm serious. So if you want fluff, try reading this!  
> (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613) <\--- (gooooo reeeeeaaaaaaad iiiiiiiit)  
> À bientôt!


	54. Ramekhganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! (Or, if you don't celebrate that, happy bonus update!)

_Large, white jewel. ‘You’ll know it when you see it’, very bloody helpful, Adad. It’s not like there’s a bloody thousand white jewels in here or anything, and that’s just the ones I’ve found so bloody far_. Bella gingerly set down her latest find, wincing at the quiet clatter. The treasury was massive, big enough to fit half of Hobbiton inside, at least, and all of it was covered in gold coins, gems, and other assorted mathoms. It was impossible to move without making some amount of noise, but she did her best to minimize it; the ground may not have been moving beneath her feet anymore, but the pure, undefinable wrongness was intensified in the treasure. Stepping onto the first coins had made her nauseous; sound made it worse. Whether the dragon was here or not, and she’d bet her share on ‘here’, she wasn’t about to make any noise that wasn’t necessary.

She’d been searching for about two hours, as best she could tell, and still couldn't see any walls except the one she’d come through. _How big is this place? And how, by Yavanna’s bloody toes, am I supposed to find one bloody rock in the middle of all this? This is ridiculous. The only way I’m going to find it tonight is if Balin or Thorin can give me a bloody idea where to start_. Carefully, she pivoted to go back the way she’d come and ask for just that. The edge of her foot just caught a golden goblet. It moved a fraction of an inch out of place. A landslide of gold coins spilled down, a bit of blood draining from Bella’s head with each one, until a red spike was revealed, a closed eye just below it. Heart pounding, Bella took deliberate steps sideways to shelter behind a pillar, jumping slightly as a puff of air blew off the coins that had covered scaly red nostrils.

 _He’s waking up_. She fumbled for her pocket, hands shaking. _If there was ever a time to use this thing, it’s now_. The sound of more metal shifting drew her attention to the other side of the pillar, where what looked like a tail was shaking off coins. _Queen and bloody Smith, how big is this thing?!_ As she slid the ring on, her legs nearly buckled as the wrongness intensified. It was like the air had left the room, like she couldn't breathe, and she struggled to keep her movements smooth as she descended the piles of coins, watching his head all the while. It moved toward her suddenly, plowing through mathoms, but other than her heart stuttering with the surge of adrenaline, she didn’t react. By the time he opened his eye, _or eyes, I suppose_ , she was a fair distance away from the pillar, though still far too close to him for comfort. He lifted his head slowly, and she used the cacophony of falling coins to cover the sound of her movements.

He sniffed, loudly, and she thanked Eru for helping her realize he would smell her; if she’d come in, smelling like a Dwarf as she undoubtably had weeks ago, he probably would've already eaten her by now. A low growl rumbled through the room, deep and thundering and alien; Bella froze. “Well, thief.” As he moved toward her, she crouched automatically, instinctively trying to hide. His next words proved how foolish that was. “I smell you.” Fighting to control her breathing, she watched as he tilted his head, his eye, exactly where she was. “I hear your breath.” He moved past her, and she rose, one hand on Sting, as pointless as she knew fighting would be. “I feel your air.” _Sound and scent, that’s how he’s tracking me. If I can stay silent, he won’t be able to find me by smell alone, I don’t think. But as long as I’m standing on a mountain of noisy bloody coins—_  

“Where are you?” His head soared back toward her and she made her decision. “Where are you?” She bolted down the pile, letting gravity pull her even faster, listening to him chase her, feeling coins strike her as sharply as any Orc. Quickly, she ducked behind another pillar and stopped, guessing that he would have a harder time locating her if she wasn’t moving. “Come now, don’t be shy… step into the light.” His voice deepened on the last, and a tremor of primal fear ran down her spine. _I’d take bloody Gollum over this; what I wouldn't give for r— Riddles_.

“There is… something about you.” As he came around the pillar, she edged away, nearly silent, but barely staying ahead of him. “Something you carry. Something made of gold, but far… more… Precious.” The word wormed into her head, echoing off of the wrongness, resounding until it built to a sharp, stabbing pain behind her eyes, and she’d yanked off the ring before she even realized. She kept her expression as neutral as she could while she tucked the ring back into her pocket. “There you are, thief in the shadows.”

She tilted her head to one side, thinking of Thorin, of her brothers, of her time with them at Beorn’s, and allowed a minuscule smile. “I did not come to steal from you, O Smaug, the unassessably wealthy.” While keeping her voice light, she let her eyes trail over the gold without any avarice. “I merely wanted to gaze upon your magnificence, to see if you really were as great as the old tales say. I’m afraid I didn’t believe them.”

With an air of unmistakable preening, Smaug circled the pillar and reared up so that his entire body was on display. “And do you now?”

Bella let a tinge of fear enter her tone, though she kept it mostly admiring. “Truly, the tales and songs fell utterly short of your enormity, O Smaug the stupendous.”

With a dispassionate air that was almost more chilling than his anger had been, he moved a tad closer, a beam of moonlight crossing his face as he did. “Do you think flattery will keep you alive?”

“No.” There was no deceit in the word, only in concealing the chill that ran down her spine as he approached.

“No, indeed. You seem familiar with my name, but I don’t remember smelling your kind before. Who are you, and where do you come from, may I ask?” A victorious smirk nearly ruined everything, but Bella tamped it down. _It worked, he can’t smell the Dwarrow, and it looks like the stories were true: dragons love riddles_.

A gleam of light caught her eye while she was deciding on the wording. She looked away before he could notice her interest, but marked the location in her mind. “I come from under the hill.” She kept her tone light, even playful, and he tilted his head curiously.

“Underhill?”

“And under hills and over hills my path has led.” She ambled a few feet in the opposite direction from the Arkenstone. “And though the air. I am she who walks unseen.”

“Impressive. What else do you claim to be?”

He moved, stopping a few feet away from her, and she ignored his breath with difficulty, only permitting herself a slight cough. “I am luck-wearer. Riddle-maker.”

“Lovely titles. Go on.” He retreated a foot or so, and she resumed her ambling, this time diagonally between the Arkenstone and Smaug. 

“I am the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I was chosen for the lucky number.” She kept her tone divulging, _as though I were telling Balin some interesting tidbit about our folklore_. “And chosen by a Smith, though by no Man, Elf, or Dwarf. I am she that buries her friends and drowns them and draws them alive again from the water. I came from the end of a bag, but no bag went over me.”

He sneered, drawing back a few more feet. “These don’t sound so credible.”

She flashed a quick grin at him. “And yet, still true.” She continued wandering, keeping her continual progress toward the Arkenstone ‘accidental’. “I am the friend of bears and the guest of Eagles. I am half a King and beloved by Princes.” Her voice shook, infuriatingly, on ‘beloved’, but she continued. “I am a Princess by birth, and yet no royal sired me.” That caught his attention. _CRAPBLOODYCRAP_

He moved forward, and she fell as she backed away, hitting the coins with a grunt. “A Princess?” He sniffed her again, inches from touching her, and she struggled to maintain a stoic expression. _Come on, Thorin could keep his broodyface through all this, you can too!_ “Yes, and a maiden, as well.”

Her head shot up and she glared at him as fiercely as she could. “Of course I am! I’m unmarried, not to mention I’ve never even been courted, what sort of girl would I be if I wasn’t?!”

His head tilted dryly, and she got the impression he’d be raising an eyebrow if he had them. “A Princess without suitors? What has the world come to?”

She chuckled, letting her expression shift to an convivial smile. “Given that I’m certainly the most odd Princess who ever lived, or at least of my generation, it’s really no surprise.” Keeping up her nonchalant pretense made it easier to hide her near frantic thinking. She’d heard stories of dragons and princesses, but had assumed there was no truth to them. Now, the question was, would a real dragon be more interested in hoarding a Princess or eating one? Either seemed likely, but at the same time, equally far-fetched.

“And what Kingdom do you come from?”

She smiled again, sitting up and edging just a tad to the side, toward the Arkenstone. _I won’t be able to take it while he’s watching me, but I’d rather have the option if I can_. “No Kingdom at all, nor Queendom, but a Kingdom waits for me. My home is far behind me, and just within reach.”

He scoffed, and circled her again; she spun, keeping him in sight, and maneuvered herself a little closer to the Stone as she did. “What business would a Princess have in my Mountain?” _I’ll take ‘your’ Mountain and shove it down your throat, you overgrown lizard_. “Perhaps the legends of my wealth tempted you to steal a few trinkets.” _Is that— that’s a open patch on his chest, that’s a weakness!_

She was nearly on top of the Arkenstone now, but didn't dare take it while he was watching. “I have no need of mathoms or crowns. Your treasure holds absolutely no interest to me.” _Especially since it’s not_ _your_ _treasure, is it?_

A faint noise sounded from the entrance, and Smaug turned to look. Even as Bella slid the Arkenstone into her pocket, with some difficulty, as it was barely small enough to fit, she felt dread coil in her gut. _No, nonono, I could've talked him down, Eru, please, let them not have come looking for me, and Mahal, if they did, keep them alive so I can smack some sense into them after all this is done_. Smaug turned back to her suddenly, and had picked her up in one huge paw _hand?_ before she knew what was happening. “So, I suppose these are your Guards, little Princess.” He swung around, holding her so that she could see that, yes, the entire Company was gathered on the threshold, just close enough for her to make out their livid expressions. 

“They are, actually. I hired them to serve as my shields for the journey. I’m not exactly a trained warrior, you know.” He looked back at the Dwarrow, and she caught Kíli’s eye. Smaug’s hold was largely on her legs, and she had just enough wiggle room to indicate where his weak spot was, pointing to the same spot on her own chest and adding a sharp, knife motion. Kíli leaned over to Fíli, who shot her a startled glance, but neither did anything more.

“And you thought these sheep could protect you?” He snorted. She shifted uncomfortably. His scales radiated more heat than a Dwarf, and what had been moderately warm when he first grabbed her was quickly becoming scorching. “A thousand of their kind couldn't hope to defeat me when I took their city; what are thirteen against my might?” As he swung his claw down, he let go of her and she rolled roughly down a pile, crying out as the metal chafed against her legs, but his voice covered the sound. “My teeth are swords!” She struggled to her feet as he stalked toward the Company. “My claws, spears!” Fíli was speaking to Bifur, and Kíli had his bow out; limping, she ran under Smaug so that he would have to turn to see her. “My wings, a hurricane!” Her legs nearly gave out as she staggered to a stop on the bare stone. “My breath is death!”

Turning around, it only took her a moment to gather enough breath to yell up at him, “That’s true enough; I nearly suffocated when I got a whiff earlier!” His head snapped toward her, and she backed away. “You don’t need fire, just breathe on your enemies and they’ll beg you to kill them!” Her heel struck something, and she fell onto a staircase. Smaug’s eyes were fixed on her in a glare, and he was beginning to rear up as he had earlier. “I don’t know why you haven't killed me already! Obviously you’ve grown slow and fat, here in your hideaway.” A low thundering snarl rumbled through the stone, and parts of his chest were lightening to gold. “In fact, I’d almost think I was talking to an old slug!”

She whipped around and raced up the stairs, hearing him roar behind her, and barely managed to duck behind a pillar before fire was billowing past on either side. A scream tore from her throat; the heat was worse than being held by him, almost as bad as her wounds being cauterized. 

After a few seconds that seemed to last years, the onslaught ended with another roar, this one accompanied by a chorus of war-cries. The pain was hard to think past, her hands already reddening, but she heaved to the side, just enough to see past the pillar. Smaug was fighting the Company, several arrows sticking out of the bare patch on his chest, and as she watched, his scales lightened again.

Panting, she roared at him, “Witless worm, you call yourself a dragon? An Orc wouldn't have been outwitted so quickly!” His head snapped toward her, and she knew she wouldn't be able to move out of the way this time. The gold on _in?_ his chest spread. He opened his mouth. He took a single step toward her. A dark, thin blur lodged itself in his scales. Something moved near his left foot, and he fell forward. Little smudges moved around the gold and grey blurs, and Bella let her eyes shut. _I‘m tired. Why was I running around? That was silly_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, combo book/movie here, because I'm sorry, but I just couldn't leave out all Bella's titles. Also, I think I've read other fics where the whole 'Princess' thing was a big deal, but I can't remember if I had any one in particular in mind when I wrote this. Other than that, nothing in particular to point out. Hope you liked it!  
> À bientôt!
> 
> (And seriously, go read Bilba and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, or at least just check it out and see if you're interested, because I promise you, anything I can say about it will *not* do it justice.  
> [https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613]  
> goooo reeeeaaaad iiiiiiit.)


	55. Gamekganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treatment and world-building. Par for the course.

A spike of pain prompted Bella to open her eyes, and it took a moment for her to comprehend the words from above her. “…lla, Mahal, Bella, look at me.”

“…Kíli?” The dark blur slowly resolved into her brother’s face, and she frowned. _Why’s he so scared?_

He let out a relieved sigh, but his expression stayed stricken. “I thought I told you to stop doing that!” _What… Smaug. He was going to hurt you, all of you_. His eyes got even wider. “So that makes it alright to try and get yourself killed?!” _Oh, did I say that out loud? Oops_.

Footsteps pounded toward her, and Fíli and Dwalin came around Kíli. “Nan’ith, can you sit up on your own?” Fíli’s words didn’t seem to fit together for a few seconds, then, once Bella understood, it was another few heartbeats before she could start to push herself up. At first, she bit back a cry, but she waved off her family’s assistance and tried again. This time, she clenched her jaw and pushed through the pain long enough to struggle to her feet. She thought she must have blacked out for a moment, since the next thing she knew, Dwalin was holding her and apologizing every time she whimpered. 

With the way he was carrying her, she could see her legs easily: the bandages she’d put on before coming in were nearly burnt off in places, sliced through in others; Smaug’s claws had been sharp, it seemed, as she had half a dozen or so shallow lacerations across her legs and feet; his grip had also left her with burns in the shape of his hand _paw?_ and scorch marks on her clothes, but all of her visible skin was beginning to blister from simply standing too close to his fire. She was starting to come back to her senses, though she wished she wasn’t. 

Dwalin sat down facing a corner, still holding her, and Oin knelt in front of them. “Get that coat off, lassie, I’ll need to see all your injuries.”

As she painfully straightened, Dwalin helped her ease off the jacket, then her overshirt. “What happened? I saw him fall, but nothing more.” She hissed as her hands slid through the sleeves, and stayed still while Oin examined her back; he nudged her braid over her shoulder as he did, and a tension she hadn’t been aware of fled when she saw that her hair hadn't burnt off or anything.

“That was all, iraknâthaê. Kíli’s arrows wounded it, but it was Bifur’s spear that dealt the fatal blow. It lodged in the worm’s chest, and when it fell forward, it drove it into its heart itself. We cut off its head, just to be sure, but it never so much as twitched the whole time.” Oin’s fingers pushed against a spot on her back, just slightly, and it felt as though he’d stabbed her. Dwalin frowned at her. “What happened, thatrûna? You look like you’ve been through war.”

“Thatrûna?”

Fíli and Kíli sat across from her, though they didn’t try to touch her. “Star-lady,” Fíli supplied with a sad smile. 

“Or glare-lady, I suppose.” Kíli shrugged, then chuckled at her glare. “See? It fits.”

Dwalin cleared his throat, and she remembered his question. “Not much happened, really. He caught me sneaking about and chased me, I’m sure I have a few bruises on my back from that; he was scattering coins everywhere, and I think some hit me while I ran. Then I talked to him, and then you all came in. You saw everything else.” She looked down at her hands and tugged the singed bandage off. “Did it help? My distracting him?” Her voice was tiny, and she wondered if anyone but Dwalin heard.

Kíli sighed while Dwalin gently pressed his lips to her head; Fíli smiled at her, teary-eyed. “Yes, nan’ith. We all have a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing like we would have if his full attention had been on us.” Her family was silent for a moment as Oin wandered away. “Why did you say those things outside?” Fíli’s eyes were intense, but he didn't look angry, he looked hurt, as did Kíli, and Dwalin, when she glanced up. “Why would you ever think that we would treasure stone and gold more than you?”

Tears building as she shook her head, she shrugged, wincing. “It’s not just stone and gold, it’s your home and your inheritance. I’m just a Hobbit.” All three of them exclaimed at that, and Kíli clambered over to her.

He hesitated, inches away, and she pulled him close enough to press her forehead to his, ignoring the pain. He closed his eyes and sighed, covering her hand with his. “You are not just a Hobbit. I don’t know how many times I’ll need to tell you that before you believe it, but I’ll remind you as often as I need to.” Fíli came closer too, and she took his hand. “You’re our sister, you’re Dwalin’s niece, you’re Balin’s daughter, you’re Thorin’s One. We will never love any place or treasure more than we love you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and tears spilled down her cheeks. “But what if you change your minds, or the other Dwarrow want me gone?”

Fíli leaned in to kiss her forehead when Kíli backed away, then pressed his brow to the same spot. “Could you ever change your mind about any of us? Decide that we’re not your family anymore?”

“Never!” The word had almost exploded out of her, and she had to stifle the hitch in her breath.

Fíli smiled tearily at her. “Then trust that we love you as much as you love us, at least. And if anyone tries to hurt you or chase you away, we’ll do the same to them.”

“I’ll do worse than chase anyone who tries to hurt my niece.” Dwalin’s growl rumbled through her, but for a guilty instant she wished it was Thorin holding her. _Not like I’m about to tell Dwalin that; he’ll never let me live it down_. Oin returned and began smearing something cold on her back, and her family laughed wetly as she yelped. Dwalin placed a finger under her chin and gently lifted her head to face him. “Promise that whenever you start thinking things like that again, you’ll tell one of us.”

She began to shake her head, but Fíli cut her off. “We don’t care if we have to remind you how we feel ten times a day, but let us remind you.”

“Let us help you.” Kíli’s expression was intense, and she couldn't help but remember the first time she'd made that promise, under the Carrock. Just as she had that night, she nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat, and broke into tears. It was an odd combination of grief over her past pain and relief that she wasn’t alone, but, for once, the latter outweighed the former.

“What are you doing to the poor lassie, anyway?” Oin’s grumble made all of them laugh, though Bella couldn't stem the flow of tears if she tried.

She growled slightly, and put on a childish pout when her family looked at her. “I hate crying.” They laughed again, and she, lightly, with them.

 

Bella adjusted the jacket under her again. After finishing with her back, Oin had cut her trousers off in order to treat the gashes on her legs; Kíli, apple-red, had quickly volunteered to stand guard. She’d had to get off of Dwalin’s lap, but he stayed next to her in order to block her from the other’s sight. _Tiny bit overprotective, but I can’t say I mind; I probably would have asked him to do just that, if he hadn't done it first_. The Camps had burned away her modesty, and most of the time, she was more concerned with whether her scars were on display than anything else. But slowly, so slowly that she hadn't really noticed, she was adjusting to Dwarrow sensibilities, including being a little shy about having too much skin visible. _They’re still prudes, but they might have a point_. 

Hobbits didn't walk around half-dressed, or anything like that, _usually_ , but between short skirts, short sleeves, and typically low-cut necklines, Hobbit clothing was a tad revealing. In the Shire, anyone old enough not to react to her current state of undress as Kíli had, and not foul enough to screech as Lobelia undoubtably would, wouldn't have batted an eye. _Well, not if I still had trousers on_. Some summers, it was hot enough that anyone, male or female, working the fields or in their gardens found it easier to shed a few layers while they worked and get cleaned up before putting on their shirts again. Women always kept a brassiere, at least, on, and no one shed their trousers, but even so, any Dwarrow would be positively scandalized. From everyone’s descriptions, it sounded as though it would be far too cold to do so here, even for hot-blooded Dwarrow, but Bella wasn’t sure she would want to anyway.

Aside from being amusing, the Company’s reactions to _really any_ skin Bella showed were curious, and she’d asked Kítos while they were in Lake-Town. Kítos’s answer, and Dwalin’s, when Bella asked him later to get another perspective, had made it clear that Dwarrow viewed women as more precious than anything, and that they believed the intimacy of seeing a Dam undressed should be reserved for her husband. Bella’d been skeptical, at first, saying that it sounded as though Dwarrow thought women were possessions to be guarded, but Kítos had compared it to kissing. She’d asked Bella if any Hobbit would kiss, or anything else, for that matter, anyone who he or she wasn't married to. Bella’d been appalled at the idea, and her ensuing rant had given Kítos several pages of Hobbit culture to add to her book, but the question had done the trick. Kissing, touching someone’s ears, it wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t shameful, it was simply so personal that it was a privilege to be so trusted by another Hobbit. It was the ultimate display of commitment.

Most Hobbits simply weren't interested in anyone they weren't Paired with, aside from pubescent curiosity, and so seeing someone in their underthings wasn't a problem unless you were a meddling fuss-pot like Lobelia. In fact, being seriously attracted to other Hobbits was the main way of knowing that you weren’t Paired. Dwarves, however, like Men, and possibly Elves, consciously held back, and so their modesty was a method of protection as much as anything else. Being half-naked like she was, in the Shire, would get her nothing more than a few raised eyebrows and a deal of gossip. In Lake-Town, or, probably, any Mannish city if the Master was as common as she thought he was, it would make her feel like a piece of meat. But the way the Dwarrow treated her made her feel cherished, even treasured. As Oin worked, he constantly asked her permission to treat each new area, and Fíli and Dwalin watched him like hawks, tensing every time he lingered on a wound. They were overreacting, of course, but when she said as much, they swore to follow her lead; if she didn't care to punish someone who overstepped, neither would they.

Now, she was sitting on her folded-up jacket with her legs half-drawn up in order to keep her injuries off the stone, with Kíli still standing guard out of sight, cracking jokes, Dwalin beside her and holding her hair off her back while Fíli, behind her, rebraided it so that it wouldn’t get caught in the salve Oin had spread over all her burns and bruises; the cuts had needed a different dressing, but, like the burns, were healing quickly enough that he didn’t think bandages were necessary. Fíli’d put the four beads back in first, and the familiar metal against her skin brought a broad grin to her face. If Balin hadn't needed to consult with Thorin over something or other, and if Kítos had been able to come keep Bella company, and, of course, if it wasn’t so cold, it would've been nearly perfect. _Completely perfect would be if Thorin and I were already married and he could hold me, of course, but there’s no sense being torn up about that yet_. Smaug was dead, Erebor was theirs, and hopefully, she and Thorin could begin courting soon. 

The worst was well behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I just couldn't let a closing line like that pass. Seriously, is there any better way to jinx things than to say they can't get any worse? As for her burns, think horrific sunburn. the 'her hair hadn't burnt off' is a direct reference to the book, btw, where the back of Bilbo's head and the hair on his heels gets singed off. I thought about doing that here, but no, I'm too jealous of Bella's hair to let anything happen to it. I'm pretty sure I got the idea of Bifur killing Smaug from another fic, but I can't remember the name of it. What with most Hobbits not being attracted to anyone but their Voshel/Vashil, it only makes sense (to me, at least) that there wouldn't be nearly the same attitude towards (partial) nudity as there is in most cultures. They'd totally still gossip about it, though, 'cause come on. They're Hobbits. Of course they're going to gossip about it.
> 
> Anyone interested, I'm still looking for betas for my next Hobbit fic; anyone not interested, go read this: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613. Completely fantastic, I promise.  
> À bientôt!


	56. Gesganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, they're in Erebor. You know what happens next.

“Finished?” Bella smoothed down her skirt and stepped up to Kíli. Oin had _finally_ given her permission to get dressed and move around to her heart’s content late last night, though she wasn’t allowed to wear trousers until tomorrow, at least, and would have to wear Kíli’s tunic until her arms and back were healed enough that she could wrestle on her own shirt without feeling like she would pull something.

“Finished.”

Kíli made a show of peeking at her out of the corner of his eye, while she giggled softly, before turning to face her fully with a broad grin. “Well, it’s about time!” _You’re telling me_. She’d sat in that corner for several hours, although she wasn’t sure exactly how long; it had been long enough for Fíli to bring her two meals while she chatted with Dwalin, and then all she’d wanted to do was sleep. Kíli’d helped her gather up her pack, and carried everything that didn't fit to a more private room Dori’d found, and according to her brothers, she’d then slept most of the day away. The rest had done her good, though. The cuts on her legs were half-healed already, and the worst burns had faded to a dull ache; another day would probably finish off the burns, and another after that would leave her with nothing more than red, healing scars on her legs. 

But she wasn’t back to normal yet. She still felt weak, and odd. It was worse near the treasure, she’d realized on her way to the room last night; when she was away from the gold, she felt better, but next to it, or on it, the wrongness was barely weaker than the day before. As they neared the treasure room, Kíli’s arm around her, holding her up, dread curled around her spine. She’d assumed that Smaug was the cause of whatever it was, but he was thoroughly dead. He couldn't be the source. _And was that stopping my Ralenns?_ Just as in Mirkwood, she’d only had one faint dream the night before, and couldn't remember any details, just that she’d been afraid. _But afraid of what?_

 

Three days later, the new scars on her legs were barely sore, and Bombur enlisted her to assist him in the kitchens. She agreed easily, _anything to get away from that room_ , but was concerned nonetheless.

“Thorin didn’t come to dinner.” She watched Bombur carefully, and saw a faint wince cross his face.

“No.”

She growled. “It wasn’t a question, Bombur. What aren't you telling me?” When he still didn't turn to face her, she hopped up to sit on the counter next to him. “Are you all keeping him away from me? Is that it? It’s been days since I’ve seen him, why weren’t any of you worried when he didn't show up?”

“Are you alright?”

She scoffed. “No, Bombur, I’m not alright, I’m worried about my Voshel because none of you will tell me if he’s alright!” _Not to mention I’m still not dreaming, I feel more jittery every day that I haven't touched him, and I’m starting to worry that he was hurt in the fight and you just don't want me to know I’m going to die, too_. Her anger drained away to leave a bone-deep exhaustion, and she slumped, still watching him. “Please, Bombur. Just tell me if he’s alright.”

He winced, but rubbed a hand over his face and met her eyes. “You’ll have to ask your father for the specifics, but no, Thorin’s not alright. He’s sick, nothing life-threatening, but we thought maybe it would be best if he didn't see you until he was better.” There was no deceit in his face, only a cautious gravity. As she thought over his words, she felt heat build in her cheeks and her chest, straightening her posture almost without her awareness, until it became almost overpowering and she stalked out of the room. _Ask your father, we thought it would be best, why would we need to tell you, you’re only his Vashil, only his One_.

Fíli and Kíli were in her room when she reached it, and she stomped up to them and shoved at them before they had a chance to speak. “YOU PROMISED.” Annoyingly, tears began to blur her vision, and she swiped at them, still yelling. “In Mirkwood, you both promised! You said you wouldn't lie to me, you wouldn't treat me like an invalid, but you have been!” Kíli began to speak, but she shoved him again. “Bombur told me, he told me that Thorin’s sick, that—” She growled. “You all knew! You two and Adad and Dwalin, you all knew, and you’ve been lying to me!”

“Bella—” 

She rounded on Fíli. “Did you or did you not decide that I didn't need to know Thorin was sick?”

“Well, I—”

“Yes or no!” Fíli went blurry again, but she didn't move this time, just kept glaring at him.

He sighed. “Yes.” 

She scoffed, and batted his hand away when he reached for her. “Get out.” Kíli reached out to her, and she knocked his hand away, too, as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Both of you, get out.”

She woke up the next morning to persistent knocking at the door, and grimaced at how puffy her eyes felt. She’d figured out fairly quickly that when the doors were closed, most of the rooms in the mountain were nearly soundproof. For any sound to come through at all, even knocking, took a huge amount of force. She couldn't see who was at the door without opening it, but she didn't need to. She knew who was out there. It was another hour before she let her brothers inside, but she still didn't let them within arms’ reach, feeling wretched for not immediately forgiving them, but equally wretched for even letting them in the room. Fíli sighed. “Can we explain?” She just looked at him, but he seemed to take that as permission. “Your dreams, Ralenns, you see Thorin’s memories, right?” As she nodded, Kíli shut the door. “You saw Thror?”

The air seemed to leave the room as she realized what Fíli was dancing around. “You mean, did I see his gold-sickness.” The answer was yes, of course. The first Ralenn she thought of was a day a decade or so before Smaug came; Thror had become convinced that his daughter, Dori and Nori and Kítos’ mother, was conspiring to steal his gold. He’d disowned her, exiled her. It was why Kítos couldn't wear Durin’s beads, why her brothers couldn't wear them: they were legally and officially unrelated to Thorin or his nephews. _Lower than miners_.

Kíli sat next to his brother, both of them looking desperately remorseful. “Thorin’s not that bad, Balin’s trying to talk him down, but we didn't want to risk him getting angry with you.”

“We should have told you.” Fíli bowed his head, eyes closed. “There is no excuse for that.” Fíli stayed still, Kíli watching her with tears streaking down his face, for nearly a minute before she couldn't take it anymore and pulled them both into a hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” As Kíli repeated his apology, she rubbed one hand on his back while the other was looped around Fíli’s neck. 

After a few minutes, she drew back and flicked them both on the face. “Don’t you dare ever do that to me again.”

“I swear.”

“I swear.” Fíli leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. “But Bella, promise me you won’t go near Thorin without one of us there.”

Gaping, she pulled back a fraction. “Fíli’s right.” _Stupid puppy-dog eyes, why do brown eyes have to be so sweet?_ “He’s unpredictable right now. He could be dangerous.” All she could do was stare at them. _Dange— How could Thorin be dangerous? He does everything for them, for the Company, he protects them all, and me. He always protects me when… when he can. …What has he done to lose their trust? But there’s something about that gold, something evil. If it’s got its claws into him, I don’t know how to fight that, I don’t know if it can be fought_.

Hesitantly, she nodded. “I promise, but as soon as Gandalf gets here, we need to ask him for help.” They glanced at each other uncertainly. Pulling lightly on their collars to get their attention, she looked between them, meeting their eyes soberly. “The only other person I can think of who might have an idea how to help him is Elrond, and I doubt Thorin would ever take an Elf’s instructions, right mind or no. Gandalf, as much as it pains me to say, might be Thorin’s only hope.” 

There was a grain of truth in her statement: she’d banked on Gandalf’s help once before, and lost her family as a result. The idea that she might be putting her Voshel’s life in his hands, and thereby her own, brought a stab of painful trepidation. Her brothers nodded and pulled her into their arms again. She returned the embrace tightly, trying to erase the gnawing disquiet. _It’ll be fine. Thorin will get over this on his own, or Gandalf will fix him. It’ll be fine. It has to be_.

 

It wasn’t until eight days later that Bella saw Thorin. Her promise to her brothers had been enough that she didn't look for him when she was alone, too sure that if she saw him, she’d run straight into his arms. At first, she’d been tempted to have one of them take her to him, but as the days went by, although her skin seemed to crawl, itching to touch her Voshel, the other Dwarrow got twitchier at the mere mention of his name. Then, when she went to the kitchen in the morning, Bombur wasn’t there. It hadn't been uncommon, in the last week, for him to arrive after her, but an hour went by with no sight of him. She called for him in the corridors where she knew the others had picked out rooms, but it didn't take long to acknowledge that there was only one place he would be.

She’d been worried, when they first reached the Mountain, that she would get lost easily in Erebor, but for the most part, she didn't have any trouble finding her way. It was more organized than the Shire, and her feet often knew which direction to go before she did, but unfortunately, Erebor was not all on one level, _as would be sensible_ , and she had to backtrack several times to go up or down stairs. In the end, when she reached the treasury, she entered from a different spot than before, on a landing overlooking the room, with stairs leading down. The gold seemed to shine on its own, and she could see some of the Company wandering around the piles. 

Gold clinking drew her eyes down to a doorway relatively near the base of the stairs, and Thorin stepped out, his eyes on the ground. There was something… off about him, nothing that Bella could put her finger on, but he looked different. “Gold.” The whisper rang through the room, the tone familiar somehow. “Gold beyond measure. Beyond sorrow… and grief.” His head turned toward her, and his eyes were wide, surprised, as they met hers. _What’s wrong with his eyes?_ The gold-light was changing them somehow, the color not what it was in sunlight. He watched her for a long moment, almost perfectly still. “Behold the great treasure hoard of Thror.” The name echoed off the metal more than the rest of his words had, and he tilted his face down to the gold, _so familiar, but not Thorin, who was it that looked like that?_

Bella started to descend to him, _the Company’s right there, even if he’s as dangerous as Fíli and Kíli say, they’re right there_ , but her legs shook more and more the closer she got to the foot of the steps, and she had no choice but to stop ten feet or so from the bottom. He moved toward her, and the way he moved was so ‘Thorin’ that she could have recognized him from a league away, but still, something in his face kept her where she was. She felt as though she were being torn in half: part of her wanted to run to him, _kiss him_ , and another wanted to run the other way, because _that isn't Thorin_. “I was looking for Bombur.”

He stopped, a few feet from the base of the stairs, and frowned at her. “Bombur? He’s searching for the Arkenstone, as he should be.” His eyes sharpened slightly as he continued toward her. “As you should be, with the rest of the Company.”

She’d taken a few steps back up the stairs before she realized, and forced herself to hold her ground as he approached. “I can’t. I can barely stand to be this close to it.”

He stopped at the edge of the landing, arms’ length away and at her eye level, and frowned again, but the expression was more confused than anything else. “Why wouldn't you want to be near the gold?”

 _Because there’s something wrong with it, with you_. The words refused to leave her mouth, some quiet instinct telling her it would be a mistake. She scrambled for another reason, hoping it would be enough. “It… hurts my feet, to walk on it.” His scowl deepened, and she added, “If you need me to help look, I could watch from the balconies. I’m too small to see anything from ground level, anyway.” Slowly, his expression cleared, but her anxiety only strengthened. _He doesn't even recognize me, not really, I don’t think. And what’s wrong with his eyes?! They’re the same as before, there’s nothing missing from them, nothing added to them, they’re not different, but they_ _are_.

He nodded. “You’ll go straight up.”

Warily, she shook her head. “I’m needed in the kitchen right now, and so is Bombur.”

The hint of a smile reached his eyes, and he seemed to actually see her for the first time in the entire conversation, whatever was different about his eyes fading slightly, although they didn't change. “Always practical.” Cautious hope rose as she watched him, the undefinable not-Thorin-ness ebbing away, until a crash came from out of sight, behind a pile, accompanied by a frustrated groan.

He looked toward the sound, as did Bella, but he stayed facing away from her for several seconds. Stepping to the side, she saw that his eyes were roaming greedily over the gold. “Thorin?” He turned to her again, but it almost seemed as though he’d forgotten she was there, that he’d turned because her voice had caught his attention, not his name.

The wrongness was back, whatever improvement she’d encouraged gone. “You’ll watch from the balconies when you aren't needed in the kitchens, and Bombur will distribute the food at mealtimes. We’ve wasted too much time going to and from the dining areas, rather than eating here.” He turned and walked swiftly down the stairs, back to the gold, and Bella couldn't force herself more than a step further than she’d gotten a few minutes earlier before her legs buckled and she fell back onto the landing, hard enough that she was sure she’d have a new bruise or two. She had to drag herself up a dozen stairs or so before she felt strong enough to walk again, watching Thorin the entire time. He never looked back at her.

 

The next three days set the pattern: Bella would sleep in the kitchen, cook breakfast, take it to the landing where Bombur would collect it and take it to the Company; she would go up to the balconies around the hall, avoiding Thorin as he went from view to view, and pretend to be looking for the Arkenstone until she was hungry; the second half of the day was much the same, kitchen, take food to landing, ‘look’ from balconies until she could barely keep herself awake, and then she would return to the kitchen and fall asleep before her head hit the bedroll. The hours she spent in the treasury were largely occupied by debating whether or not to give Thorin the Arkenstone. The fourth day after her conversation with Thorin, Balin joined her for a few minutes. Thorin was pacing on a balcony across the way, and Bella leaned against her Adad while they both watched him. Balin’s breathing changed, and Bella realized there were tears in his eyes, though he let none fall. 

“Dragon-sickness. I’ve seen it before. That look. That terrible need.”

Remembering her Ralenns of Thror, Bella murmured, “So have I.” She slid an arm around him, and they were silent for a few moments before she got up the courage to ask, “Adad, if Thorin had the Arkenstone, if it was found… would it help?” 

She did her best to keep her near-inaudible tone hypothetical, but if the way he twitched was any indication, he saw through her. “That stone crowns all. It is the summit of all this wealth.” Shaking his head, he lowered his voice even more, enough that Bella didn't think a Dwarf would be able to hear him unless they were as close as she was. “Would it stay his madness? No, Nuthanuthê. I fear it would make him worse.” Turning to press his lips to her hair, he whispered, “Perhaps it is best it remains lost.” He pulled away and Bella listened to his footsteps fade down the halls, watching the Company move on the gold.

After a few minutes, she rubbed her eyes. _I need a break_. She didn't know how the Dwarrow could stand to look at it day in and day out: a few hours were enough to make her wish she were looking at plain dirt. There were ornate benches in the hall, and she sank onto one gratefully. _Plain dirt, perfect for planting_. The thought reminded her of the acorn she’d taken from Beorn’s garden, and she pulled it out of her jacket, comforted by its unassuming simplicity.

“What is that?” By the time she recognized Thorin’s growl, he was stalking toward her. “In your hand?!” Wearing the grandiose robes seemed to make him even bigger, and he loomed over her; she sprang to her feet, backing away a few steps.

“It’s nothing.”

“Show me.” His tone didn't hurt nearly as much as the blatant suspicion in his entire manner. _It wasn’t long ago that you trusted me completely_. Wordless, she opened her hand to reveal the acorn. His eyes stayed on hers for a heartbeat, then lowered to the seed, and he blinked at it as though he couldn't remember what it was.

“I picked it up in Beorn’s garden.”

He softened, just barely, the same hint of a smile as he’d had on the landing. “You’ve carried it all this way?”

“I’m going to plant it in my garden.” _And I hope, Mahal and Yavanna, I_ _hope_ _that it’ll be here, because for the first time, I’m not sure_.

A sincere smile crept onto Thorin’s face as he let out a soft chuckle, and Bella nearly smiled at him in return. “It’s a poor prize to take back to the Shire.” His voice was soft, _so soft_ , and so like it would’ve been if he’d said it in Lake-Town, or near Dale, _like it should’ve been here_.

“One day, it’ll grow.” _Like our children, I hope_. Again, she couldn't make herself say it. “And every time I look at it,” _I’ll think of you_ , “I’ll remember everything that’s happened, good, bad…” She trailed off, but he kept smiling at her, the expression only widening when she let herself smile back at him, the wrongness almost completely gone. _Three little words, I love you, just say it_. “Thorin, I—”

A shout came from the treasury, and Thorin’s expression deadened, the smile fading along with Bella’s hope. He moved to the balcony, then down toward the stairs, a savage grin on his face. Fighting back tears, Bella slumped down onto the bench, leaning against the wall. _I was so close. It might have broken him out of this, it might have fixed him. Or maybe nothing would have changed. Maybe gold-sickness isn’t that easy to fix. Maybe it— No, no, it_ _can_ _be fixed. It has to be_. He returned a few minutes later, his footsteps giving her enough warning to stand up and brace herself for what would undoubtably be painful. He barely stopped in front of her, tossing something to her before he went through the archway, calling over his shoulder, his voice callous, “For a real prize.”

 _Prize? What_ — She untangled the object carefully, breath leaving her when she recognized it. _The white gems of Lasgalen_. Thranduil’d had sketches of all the gems he wanted from Erebor, and this, this jewelry Bella was holding, that Thorin had tossed to her with all the respect she would give a moldy apple, was the centerpiece of the collection. She sank onto the bench, knees weak. _Legolas’ mother’s necklace_. It was beautiful, possibly the most beautiful piece of jewelry Bella’d ever seen, but it was Thranduil’s. She hated him, for his neglect of his son as much as of his land, for his cruelty to the survivors of Erebor and to the Company, but that didn't change the fact that this necklace belonged to him. No matter how detestable he was, Bella would  not lower herself to his level. 

 _But if I give it back to Thorin, he’ll either be angry or he’ll lock it away, and who knows if I’ll be able to get it back to Thranduil_. She examined the necklace for a minute. _It was tangled just by Thorin holding it wrong; if I try and wad it up, I could damage it_. A necklace like this, with chains like these, would need to be stored flat. When she returned to the kitchen tonight, she would leave it there, maybe under her pack, but for now… Sighing, she fastened it around her neck, tucking it under her shirt to rest below her sternum. It was surprisingly light, but even so, it seemed to weigh her down as much as the Arkenstone, and she was glad to take it off at the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was always going to happen, you know. (Just like aliens made of wood.) Sorry if it seems a little fast, but I'm pretty sure I could write 100k on just Thorin's gold-sickness, so going quick is the best way for me to not get stuck.  
> Same questions as usual: betas welcome to let me know if they're interested in fem!Bilbo or fem!Merlin, everyone else welcome to check out an amazing (and super fluffy) fic. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613)  
> À bientôt!


	57. Hadedganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella Gets a Clue. (p. 2)

The reprieve lasted a single day; the next time she saw Thorin, instead of soft words or fond smiles, he gave her veiled threats, and she wore the necklace from then on. She was able to convince him that it would be best to keep it out of sight for the moment, under her shirt, but it took far longer than she’d expected, and there was no hope of convincing him to let go of his other plans. A few days after giving her the necklace, Thorin decided that the gate would be fortified, and the Company poured their energy, if not their hearts, into the effort. After it was finished, there was always a guard posted, though never Thorin himself. Bella sat watch, a few times, but as far gone as Thorin was, he still recognized that she would be of no use at night. Instead, she took the dawn watch, since her eyes were the least hindered by the rising sun, and most likely to see the glint of light off armor. But there was none to be seen until nine days after the necklace, twenty-five days after Smaug died. That morning, the rays of dawn revealed battalions of Elven warriors in Dale, as unmoving as the statues on either side of the gate, and Bella almost didn't tell anyone.

_What are they— what is_ _Thranduil_ _doing? This has his fingermarks all over it, he’d be the only one arrogant enough to actually do it, what is he thinking?! Even if Thorin were in his right mind, this would be the most efficient way possible to ensure that he would refuse to talk—_

_…That’s what he’s doing. He wants Thorin to be off-balance, emotional, irrational, so that he’d be easier to manipulate. And it’ll get everyone killed_. Ice seeped into her bones as the wind ruffled her clothes. _With Thorin like he is, I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything to stop this, to stop him. He’ll declare war in a heartbeat. Thranduil’s an Elf; even if he personally fights, I doubt he’d even be wounded, not when there’s fourteen of us and he has an army. If he does this, if he tries to bully Thorin like he did in Mirkwood, we will have war. And we will die. And all because of greed and dragon-sickness_. 

A scuffing footstep came from behind her, and she turned to see Bofur just entering the hall, walking toward the gates. “Morning, Bella! Brought you breakfast, sorry it’s not hot.” For an instant, Bella couldn't decide: keep Bofur away, enlist him and her family and Kítos to hide this from Thorin, buy as much time as possible, or… _If Thorin finds out they lied, it’ll be unimaginable. And even if he’s not really ‘Thorin’ anymore, none of them will want to betray their King_.

She faced out again as Bofur began ascending the stairs. “I don’t have much of an appetite, Bofur. A little too worried about what's about to happen.”

“Now, what co—” The bowl clattered to the ground, and Bofur stepped to her side as though he were moving through molasses. The two of them stood, looking out at the open space between Erebor and Dale, _tomorrow’s battleground_.

“Tell the others.” Mutely, Bofur nodded and hurried down the stairs, while Bella caught a flicker of movement at Dale’s closest gate. _Was that a horse?_ Another glimpse confirmed it, but it would be a few minutes before it was close enough to recognize the rider. She waited in silence, wishing there were something she could do, unable to look away. A few long minutes passed before she heard anything behind her, and then all she did was move slightly to one side, so that one of the Company would have room to stand next to her. She didn't realize it was Thorin until he placed one hand in view on the stone, and something in her broke, just a bit. _A month ago, I would've known it was you before I even saw you. Even if I didn’t, just the hem of your sleeve would've been enough for me to recognize. Yavanna, Mahal,_ _please_ _, bring him back to me_.

The rider rounded the last bend, and Bella’s heart twisted at the sight of Bard; he was an ally, a friend, but she didn't know how Thorin would react to him. “Hail, Thorin, son of Thrain.” Bard pulled up his horse a ways from the gates, but he was close enough that Bella was sure even Balin could see him clearly. “We are glad to see you alive beyond hope.”

“Why do you come to the gates of the King Under the Mountain armed for war?” Thorin’s tone was belligerent, and Bella couldn't bring herself to look at his expression.

“Why does the King Under the Mountain fence himself in, like a robber in his hold?” _If this were any other day, I would agree with you, I’d even add a few comments of my own, but stop_ _antagonizing_ _him, Bard_.

“Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed.” Thorin’s voice rose into a near-yell, and Bella had to hold back a flinch.

“My lord, we have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement. Will you not speak with me?” Bard’s expression was almost pleading, and Bella glanced up just in time to see Thorin nod toward the stairs, his eyes still on Bard’s as he drew away and descended. She followed him, along with the rest of the Company, and she heard Balin murmuring something before a bird flew away. _Wha— It doesn't matter. Not right now_.

She knew what Thorin had been indicating; the little tunnel had been crafted for this exact reason, angled up so that a Dwarf, _or Hobbit_ , and a Man, _or Elf_ , could converse without having to shout back and forth. She leaned against the wall, facing Thorin as he stepped forward; the rest of the Company was waiting several feet away, out of hearing range, if the conversation was quiet, but she didn't see the need to join them. She’d be able to hear just as well from there, so why pretend? This way, she could try, at least, to keep Thorin from going too far. His eyes were on her as he spoke, but she didn't think he was seeing her. “I am listening.”

“On behalf of the people of Lake-Town, I ask that you honor your pledge. The Master seeks his promised payment, and there are many in the town who ask for the lost wealth of Dale to be returned. Now that the worm is gone, as it must be, we can start to rebuild our lives in our ancestral home.”

Thorin’s eyes slowly tracked to the tunnel as Bard spoke. “I will not treat with any man while an armed host lies before my door.” _Neither would I, but we don’t have a choice, Thorin!_

“That armed host will attack this Mountain if we do not come to terms.”

“And your threats do not sway me.”

His voice was almost weak, but Bella didn't take the time to analyze that before hissing, “He’s not threatening us, he’s warning us! Bard is our ally, he wouldn't bring an army, and the Master would, but he doesn’t command the Elves. The Men are not our enemies, Thorin.”

She thought he heard the first sentence, but Bard spoke at the same time that she did for the rest, and Thorin’s attention turned back to the Man. “What of your conscience? Does it not tell you that our cause is just?” A faint scoff left Thorin at the last word, but she couldn't tell what he was scoffing at: justice, or her use of his name for the first time in days.

He moved away from the tunnel, out of Bard’s view, to lean heavily against the gate, and regarded the Company with an intensity that sent chills down Bella’s spine. “Begone!” He turned toward the tunnel again with a hollow roar, and a snarl that seemed weaker than it ought to have been. “Ere our arrows fly!” 

He hurried up the stairs, all the Dwarrow did, to watch Bard ride away, and Bella trailed numbly behind. “What are you doing?!” Her voice broke, but for once, she was glad of it. _Let him hear how scared I am, how worried I am_. Most of the Company turned to her, her family all taking a step or two closer, and she modulated her voice before continuing. “You cannot go to war.”

Thorin didn't look at her, his voice as deadened as his expression. “This does not concern you.”

“Excuse me, but just in case you haven't noticed, there is an army of Elves out there. We are, in fact, outnumbered.” _And I don’t want to die_.

With a half-smile that seemed more condescending than anything else, Thorin turned to her. “Not for much longer.”

 _There’s something going on, something no one told me. I’m really getting sick of that_. “What does that mean?”

“It means, Bella,” his use of her name for the first time since Durin’s Day shocked her into stillness when he walked over to her, loomed over her in a way that used to be comforting. “You should never underestimate Dwarrow.” He moved away again. “We have reclaimed Erebor. Now, we defend it.” All the last remnants of ‘Thorin’ left his voice on the last sentence, and Bella felt as though she could hear someone else’s voice under his, similar, familiar, but _not_ _Thorin_. He didn't look at her again as he descended, and none of the Company, _none of my family, even Adad, even ‘Undad_ , would meet her eyes as she looked desperately at them.

She retreated to her old rooms and tried to sleep for several hours, ultimately giving up when she acknowledged why she couldn't rest properly. _Old habits. I need to_ _do_ _something_. She’d had enough violence for a lifetime, though she wouldn't hesitate to fight for her family. If she could avoid all this, she would, but if she couldn’t… she would  not be caught defenseless. 

Not again. 

It took her several wrong turns and backtracks to find the armory; she only succeeded in the end because she followed the sounds of heavy metal clinking. The Company was some distance away when she finally found them, but Thorin called out as soon as she stepped into the corridor, “Bella. Come here.” His tone was commanding, and while half of Bella wanted to refuse, to rail at him that she was neither his possession nor his property, the other half, long dormant, screamed at her to obey, and quickly, _don’t make him angry, he’ll get the knives, send you to the wargs, make you burn while he laughs_. She closed her eyes. _He’s_ _not_ _Azog. And he won’t do anything with the Company there, anyway_. She walked toward him cautiously, and he stepped into the light when she had almost reached him. He was wearing a cumbersome-looking suit of armor, and holding what looked like an undershirt.

“You’re going to need this.” His face was grim, but he didn't move toward her, and she relaxed a fraction. “Put it on.” Her eyes flicked to the Company behind him, and she saw that Fíli was watching them, occasionally tapping a sword so that it sounded as though he were working.  Careful not to dislodge or reveal the Arkenstone, Bella took off her jacket as Thorin continued, _explained?_ “This vest is made of silver steel.” He raised the tunic so that he was looking at her through the links, and her breath caught at how suddenly intimate the gesture seemed. His eyes were almost back to himself, and it was easy, _so easy_ , for her to pretend that there was nothing wrong with him. So, for a moment, she did. “Mithril, it was called by my forebears.” He was still watching her, unmoving, and she realized that he meant for her to put on the shirt while he was holding it. With a faint blush that she couldn't quite suppress, she stepped forward to duck her head under the hem. “No blade can pierce it.” 

Surprisingly, he let go of the tunic as soon as it was over her head, and stepped around her while she wrestled it on; she circled to keep him in view, and they ended up facing each other, parallel to the rest of the Company. The sleeves only came down to her elbows, and it was almost too tight on her bust, but it was long enough to hang past her hips. The Dwarrow fell silent, and she ducked her head self-consciously. _This is why I make my own clothes_. “I look absurd. I’m not a warrior, I’m a Hobbit.” _Who’s already seen and caused more death than any Hobbit should_.

“It is a gift.” She raised her head, and his eyes took her by surprise. _Almost what they should be, even closer than before_. “A token of my regard, and our friendship.” The moment lasted another few seconds, then his eyes flicked to the Company and the wrongness was back. “True friends are hard to come by.” Grabbing the shoulder of the mithril, he tugged her down the hall, but stopped before they were out of view of the Company, before she would have pulled free. “I have been blind, but now I begin to see. I am betrayed!” The raw emotion in the last word was incongruous, the pain alien from the anger that filled the rest of his words.

“Betrayed?” She kept her voice even, her face only concerned. _I haven't done anything I wouldn't do a hundred times. I won’t feel guilty over it_.

“The Arkenstone.” _He knows_. She watched his hands as he leaned in, ready to jump away if she needed to, _but I’m not about to telegraph that_. “One of them has taken it.” Heartbeat thudding in her ears, it took a moment for Bella to understand who ‘they’ meant. She and Thorin both glanced to the Company, and the wrongness intensified in his voice until she could hear the undertones of someone else in the words. “One of them is false.”

She knew that voice, but pushed it aside to lean a hair closer to him. _Please, see reason, Mahal,_ _Queen_ _, let him see reason_. “Thorin, the quest is fulfilled. You’ve won the Mountain. Is that not enough?”

He drew back as much as she’d leaned in, expression almost hurt. “Betrayed by my own kin.” _No, listen, you’re not listening!_

“No, you— you made a promise to the Master, signed a contract and everything; helping Dale will only strengthen Erebor. Is this treasure truly worth more than your honor?” He looked at her again, but his eyes were distant. _Up the stakes_. “ Our honor, Thorin, my name’s on that contract, too.”

His expression softened, but it was condescending, not compassionate. “For that, I am grateful,” he smiled, “it was nobly, regally, done,” his expression abruptly deadened again, “but the treasure in this Mountain does not belong to the people of Lake-Town. This gold…” 

He looked away, looked down, and his expression was pained, _I’ve seen that look, I know that voice_. He met her eyes again, and someone else looked at her. 

“… is ours. And ours alone.” 

His manner changed, the way he held himself was as though he was uncomfortable in his own skin, _I know that motion_ , and he backed away a few steps, the edge of a thundering growl, the echo of ‘Princess’ bringing horrified tears to her eyes as she, at long last, understood. 

“By my life, I will not part with a single coin.” 

He was still backing away from her, and the two last kings Under the Mountain combined in his eyes, his voice, his bearing, until a stranger was sneering at her out of Thorin’s eyes. Smaug’s callous greed, Thrór’s blind cruelty; _everything Thorin hated_. 

“Not one piece of it.” 

Her vision blurred with the tears she wouldn't let fall, and the Company walked between them, armed for war. Dwalin was carrying her jacket, at the front of the line, but she couldn’t force her feet to move until she saw Kítos, at the tail of the group, and joined her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, this 'clue' isn't nearly as nice as the first. This chapter ended up a lot more movie-centric than I think I'm really happy with, but I gotta be honest, I love this part in the movie. (Especially the 'mithril' scene.) (^=u=^)  
> ''Undad' means 'eldest brother'; remember that, there'll be a test.  
> You know the drill: betas wanted, here's a fantastic (and complete) story: (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613) (BTW, I see it's gotten a lot of hits lately. Fingers crossed that at least a couple of those are from all you lovely people!)  
> À bientôt!
> 
> P.S., tell me if you like the paragraphs at the end or not. It was originally all one big paragraph starting from 'his expression softened' all the way to the end; I changed it last-minute, so if you don't like it, I can change it back.


	58. Gimoganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella gets to vent a little.

Bella avoided ‘Thorin’ _notThorin_ for the rest of the day. It wasn't difficult; he stayed in either the treasury or the throne room, and she could hear anyone coming from laughably far away, and simply hid until she saw who it was. The jitteriness that had brought her to the armory in the first place only built as the hours passed, the interminable waiting eating away at her nerves until she felt as though she’d explode. Exploring helped, and climbing, though she limited herself to a single level; she’d never find her way back to the gates if she had to use stairs. She avoided most of the Company, as well. The only Dwarrow she spoke to were Fíli, Balin, and Dwalin, and then only sparingly. She didn't want them to have to lie to ‘Thorin’ if he asked where she was. Dwalin was the one who insisted she leave, as soon as possible. Bella’d agreed easily, but convinced him to wait until night fell. He thought the plan was for her to run to Bard, to get as far as she could from ‘Thorin’. She didn't tell him otherwise. _He’d only worry_. 

She had several conditions, which he agreed to as easily as she had: first, she wouldn't tell him when she was leaving, thus giving him plausible deniability; second, he wouldn’t touch anything that she arranged for her escape until morning, thus giving her the option to change her mind; and third, he wouldn't tell anyone else, even their brothers. _It’s bad enough involving my Irak’adad_. The only reason she was willing to even involve  him was that he was one of about two people, if not the only person in the Company, who could handle himself against ‘Thorin’. Kítos had called him the best fighter in the Company. Bella still thought that title was Thorin’s, but she knew that Dwalin was near Thorin’s level, if not on it. She hoped that nothing would come of her paranoia, _please, Eru, let nothing come of it_ , but she would rather plan for a thousand eventualities than be unprepared for one.

So, that night, Dwalin relieved Bofur’s watch and Bella snuck past while Bofur was arguing that Dwalin needed the rest more than he did. There was more than one way onto the ramparts, and she never even saw them, although she could hear them well enough. But she didn’t want to be heard, and so she wasn’t. The metal hoop clanked a little, but neither of the Dwarrow seemed to notice, and it only took her a minute to tie the rope, anyway. Before tossing the rope over the battlements, she slipped on the ring. The sickness in the Mountain had mostly faded, especially this far from the treasury, but she still had to catch her breath before she could stand without holding onto the stone. The rope fell into the water with an audible plunk, and she waited for a moment to be sure Bofur hadn't heard.

Looking over the side of the battlements, she grimaced. _Thank Eru there’s a bridge… sort of. It’s better than nothing. Yavanna, if you’re listening, let it be better than wood_. The fragments of the fallen statue were huge, easily spanning the distance to the shore, but she would still have to be careful not to slip. Her hands were raw by the time she was standing on the stone, and her entire focus was on getting to the shore, _away from the water, don’t fall in, don’t slip, don’t look, movemovemoVEMOVE_ , and it wasn't until she was firmly on solid ground that she realized crossing the stone had been nothing like the boat. The energy buzzing under her skin wouldn't let her stay to reflect, the knowledge that she would have to be back by daybreak keeping the relieved laugh from sounding, but it was a fair distance to Dale, and she had plenty of time to thank Yavanna, Mahal, and Eru, for good measure. 

The closer she got to Dale, the more undeniable the coming battle seemed. The Elves were armored and stoic as ever, the Men desperate and greedy, and everywhere she looked, she saw weapons being sharpened, armor being readied. Getting into Dale was simple, with the ring on, but it took her some time, _too much time_ , to find who she was looking for. She rounded a corner just as Gandalf barked out, “Bowman!”, and she ducked back to take off the ring. Evading the Big Folk wandering around was easy enough that she was able to keep one ear on Gandalf’s conversation as she did, trying to get close enough to avoid being shooed off to join the children. “Do you agree with this? Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of Dwarves?!?”

“It will not come to that.” _Oh, yes, it will, Bard_. “This is a fight they cannot win.”

Anger at the coming war, at Thorin’s gold-sickness, even at Bard’s words, though she knew it was unfair, roiled in her gut and sharpened her tone as she snapped, “That won’t stop them.” Gandalf, Bard, and half a dozen of the surrounding Big Folk jumped and turned to her as she stalked up to the Grey One. “You think the Dwarrow will surrender? They won’t. They will fight to the death to defend their own.” _And ‘Thorin’ will fight to the death to defend his gold_.

“Bella Baggins!” Gandalf looked as shocked as she’d ever seen him, but hurried her and Bard into Thranduil’s tent, where the Master and one of his sycophants waited.

The sight of Thranduil made her skin burn under the necklace even while she forced back a disgusted sneer. “If I’m not mistaken, this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.” The foul Elf even sat contemptuously.

“From under the nose of your drunken, boorish, utterly inept guards, yes,” his eyes snapped wide, and she heard Gandalf and Bard both softly call her name, trying to calm her down. “And let’s not forget that I needed to steal from you in the first place in order to free my friends, my family, my Voshel,” the word was a snarl, “who you unlawfully, unjustly, and unfairly imprisoned for no other crime than not bowing to your avarice.” The last word seemed to cross a line, and Thranduil stood, a tower of Elven fury, but Gandalf, Beorn, and even Thorin were more menacing, and Bella wouldn't give him the satisfaction of flinching.

“They trespassed on my land!” If his voice was thunder, hers was a roar.

“We were trespassing on your Yavanna-blighted lands for a full month before you even knew we were there, and you still didn't know there was another member of the Company.” 

A proud, feral grin met his glare, and his eyes were more cold than ‘Thorin’s’ were now, more empty than Thorin’s had been, and more artificial than Thorin’s were even now. “Who are you that you would talk to a King in this way?!”

She straightened as she spoke, and heard the Men’s exclamations, but kept her focus solely on the Elvenking. “I am Bella Baggins, daughter of Bungo and Belladonna. I am She That is an Archer, and She That has been Named Princess of Erebor. I am the sister of Princes and the Pair of a King. I have faced dragon-fire and come out unscathed, and I will NOT bow to a king who lets his land wither away! I am half of NOTHING, AND NO ONE’S PROPERTY!” Panting from the force of her shouts, she added resolutely, “Not anymore, and never again.” The tent was silent, apart from the sound of her breathing, and she closed her eyes as she forced herself to calm. “But that’s not why I came here.”

“Then why did you come?” She didn't even try to hide her disgusted look at the Master.

 _Patience, and soon I won’t have to deal with him_. “To return lost property, and to make a bargain.” Stepping closer to the table, she set the Arkenstone down, on the side closest to Bard, and unfolded it.

Thranduil’s face emptied completely in his shock. “The Heart of the Mountain.”

“The King’s jewel.”

The Master reached toward it, and Bella barely kept herself from stabbing him. “Touch that gem, and I’ll cut off your fingers and ram them down your throat.” He retreated, his crony exclaiming on his behalf.

Gandalf sounded as though he were raising an eyebrow, but Bella didn't dare turn away from the Arkenstone to see him, _not with that Man in the room_. “Rather bloodthirsty for a Hobbit.”

She snorted. “You’re the one who thought this quest would do me good, so I’d say that’s your fault.”

“How is this yours to give?” Bard’s expression was genuinely concerned, _sweet man_.

“I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.” _Not that anyone knows that, and not that ‘Thorin’ will exactly be happy about it_.

“Why would you do this? You owe us no loyalty.”

She shook her head. “I’m not doing it for you. This war puts my family at risk, and my friends. I’ve already lost one family, I’m not going to lose another when I can save them.” Eyes falling to the Arkenstone, a wave of grief and fear swept over her, and her next words, nearly inaudible, were in a very different tone. “If I can save them.” The rustling of his robes warned her of Gandalf’s approach, but she still didn't expect his hand on her shoulder, and she shrugged him off with a wince. Firming her expression, she looked between Thranduil and Bard intently. “‘Thorin’ values this stone above all else.” _Including me._ “In exchange for its return, I believe he’ll give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war. However,” Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “I have several conditions. First of all, Bard, not you,” she pointed to the Elf, “and definitely  not them,” the Master and his boot-licker, “but Bard, and Bard alone, will handle the Arkenstone.” Bard looked as though he would protest, even as the Master huffed, and she raised a hand to cut him off. “You are the only person here to help my family without any expectation of reward. That makes you the only person here I trust with something this important. Secondly, you will use the stone to bargain for one-fourteenth of the treasure. I don’t care if you ask for less, but ask for a penny more and you will regret it.”

“And how will you manage that, girl?” The Master’s voice was as oily as ever, with an extra dose of condescension.

She blinked up at him innocently. “Oh, I won’t do anything. I’ll just tell ‘Thorin’ and Dwalin that you, or someone working under your orders, anyway, snuck into the Mountain, stopped me while I was trying to take ‘Thorin’ the Arkenstone, held me at sword point while yanking it from my hand, and threatened to kill me if I said anything.” She pasted a sugary smile on her face. “‘Thorin’ won’t like that, and I’m sure you remember Dwalin. He’s the bald one, lots of weapons, strong enough to break you in half with his bare hands?” The Master paled, and her smile became a little more genuine. “He’s my uncle, and tends to be very protective of his family.”

There were several moments of silence, broken when Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t recall any here ever owning the Arkenstone. To what lost property did you refer?”

 _Oops. I forgot. Again_. “To this.” She had to fiddle with the clasp for a second, but held the necklace out to Thranduil a second after that. He looked completely stunned, and moved slowly as he took it from her, as though afraid it would melt away if he was too eager. “The rest of the jewels are still in the Mountain; that was the only thing I could sneak out.” 

The revenant look on his face was worth more than the necklace, as far as she was concerned, but, _of course_ , he ruined it a moment later when he glared suspiciously at her. “And what will you demand for their return, my surrender?”

She scowled at him. “I may think you’re the most loathsome Elf I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, but I refuse to sink down to your level. There is no caveat. The necklace is yours, so I gave it back to you. If I could have carried the entire chest with me, I would have, and handed it over as easily as I did that. There’s no catch, I’m not trying to manipulate you, and believe it or not, not everyone is as greedy as you.”

Gandalf chuckled. “Hobbits have no interest whatsoever in mathoms such as that, Elvenking.”

Smiling, she tilted her head. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” She nodded to Thranduil’s hands. “That necklace is the single most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen, and quite possibly the only one I wouldn't have minded wearing, if it actually were mine.”

“What about those?” The Master’s crony was pointing to her hair, and Gandalf shifted his stance slightly to keep the Man from actually touching her. _Thanks. I’d rather not actually stab one of these Big Folk until it’s necessary_.

“What? My beads?” She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, these aren’t jewelry, they’re far more valuable.”

A chorus of rebuttals sounded, but she didn’t bother listening to them, and so Bard’s question caught her off guard. “Will they be angry that you’ve taken these?”

He probably meant the necklace as much as the Arkenstone, but the scintillating gem held her eyes as she swallowed. “Yes. H— They will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whadja think of her outburst? I was aiming for cathartic (also well-deserved and past due) but I'm a terrible judge, so I'm not convinced I actually succeeded.   
> Eh. I can always edit if you guys think of something I missed, I guess.   
> Anyway, 'Irak'adad' means 'uncle', and in case you couldn't tell, I really don't like Thranduil.   
> The usual ads: betas wanted for a fem!Bilbo fic and a fem!Merlin fic, please spread the word if you know anyone in the Merlin fandom, and here: (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613) full recommendation, especially if you need something silly to cheer you up. (^u^)
> 
> Oh, by the way, the next update will be later in the day than usual; I've got stuff right after church, so I won't be able to post the next chapter until close to dinner time (midwest time, anyway). Sorry!  
> À bientôt!


	59. Tagerganem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late.

After the Big Folk had agreed, reluctantly, to Bella’s conditions, Gandalf had instructed the toady, who was apparently named Alfrid, to give her a hot meal and a place to sleep. _As if_. Even if the repulsive Man hadn't leered at her the moment Gandalf turned away, his obvious loyalty to the Master was off-putting enough. Bella’d lost him quickly, slipped on her ring, and spent a few minutes filching food, before heading back to Erebor.

There was a lump in her throat the entire way, and dread roiled through her. In the moonlight, Erebor was more beautiful than ever, even with the damage still evident. They'd been in the Lonely Mountain for less than a month, and now they might lose it again. It wasn’t home in the same sense that Bag-End had been, but her family was there, and she thought she might grow to love it as much as the Dwarrow did, _if I have the chance_. Dwalin was still on watch when she reached the gates; after all, it had only been a little over an hour since she left. She stayed as noiseless as possible, and snuck through the halls to the kitchen before taking off her ring and collapsing in a corner to snatch a few hours of sleep.

The dawn found Bella perched in a hidey-hole on the opposite end of the ramparts as she’d scaled the night before, watching as vast legions of Elves filed into the plain. _Thranduil’s too arrogant to ever back down, too proud to surrender to Dwarf or Hobbit, but, Mahal’s Hammer and Yavanna’s bloody Toes, why didn't I try to reason with him anyway?!_ Bard, Thranduil, and the Master had the good sense to wait to approach until the sun had risen fully, _bet that was Bard’s influence_ , and Alfrid was nowhere to be seen. _Probably thinks everyone else’ll get themselves killed and he can loot their corpses_. 

She’d known slaves like that in the Camps; they’d simper and prostrate themselves to their holders one minute, then do the same to stronger Orcs in the hope that they could move up the proverbial ladder. _Idiots_. Bella’d been held by one of the strongest ‘leaders’ in their entire race, and she had a thousand scars to prove that a holder’s rank didn't improve anything about how their slaves were treated.

She’d known slaves like the Master, as well. They were split into two types: those who annoyed their holders until they were killed, and those who were quickly broken until only a pathetic, unambitious shell of a person was left. If she had to guess, the Master would fall into the latter category.

The Elvenking and the two Men moved easily through the army, the Elves parting before them to clear a path. The Company watched them from above the gates; Bombur’d been there on watch, and the rest had arrived over the last hour or so. They were all dressed for war, with helmets, armor, new weapons, and Bella was no exception. She’d stopped in the armory that morning, and picked out a set of vambraces, since the mithril didn't extend that far down, but had taken no other armor, just an extra quiver. Her bow was slung over her back, her own quiver strapped to her thigh like Kíli’d shown her. They were all ready for war, but ‘Thorin’ had also picked out a crown. There was barely anything left of the real Thorin, Thrór and Smaug fairly pouring out of ‘Thorin’s’ every move, every glare. Fíli and Kili were at his sides, but she didn't miss the way her brothers kept just a tad more distance between them and their uncle than they would've before Smaug, before all this.

The three Big Folk finally emerged from the crowd and neared the gates; ‘Thorin’ drew a bow and loosed an arrow at the ground before them. She hadn't known that he could use a bow, but she didn't doubt he’d hit his mark. “I will put the next one between your eyes.” Somewhat hesitantly, to Bella’s ears, the Company cheered as he drew back another arrow, jeering at the Elf and Men. Thranduil only smiled, and the first four rows or so of Elves, in unison, readied arrows of their own; the Company ducked. ‘Thorin’ didn't move. 

Bard looked at Thranduil, and the Elf gestured for the archers to stand down. “We have come to tell you that payment of your debt has been offered and accepted.” _Oh, yes, you idiot, that’s the way to lead into this, just be as blunt as possible, while still trying to get a rise out of him. At least Bard looks like he knows that was stupid_.

“What payment? I gave you nothing.” ‘Thorin’ sounded unsure, despite himself, but that faded with his next words, and his accent strengthened, _more like Thrór_. “You have nothing.”

Thranduil said nothing, only looked at Bard, who reached into his jacket. The Master didn't even try to hide the greedy gleam in his eyes as Bard held up the Arkenstone. “We have this.”

‘Thorin’ lowered his bow, and Bella could hear Kíli, even as far away as she was. “They have the Arkenstone. Thieves!” Bella winced. “How came you by the heirloom of our house?! That stone belongs to the King!” _Specifically, to king Thrór, and I think that’s the problem_.

“And the King may have it,” Bard tossed the stone up in the air, _what are you doiNG, DO YOU WANT TO DIE??_ “With our goodwill.” He tucked the stone back in his jacket. “But first, he must honor his word.” 

Bella chuckled sadly. _That’s really all you want, isn't it, Bard? You want him to do what he promised, you want this to end peacefully, you want to protect your people. You’re a thousand times better than your countrymen, even if you won’t admit it_.

“They are taking us for fools.” It was barely a whisper, but Bella still heard ‘Thorin’, could hear the smile in his voice as he continued. “This is a ruse. A filthy lie.” Balin and Fíli were starting to look concerned; more in the Company might have, but they were facing away from Bella, so she couldn’t tell. ‘Thorin’ raised his voice again, and Bella let the weight of her armor steady her as she readied herself. “The Arkenstone is in this Mountain! It is a trick!”

“It’s no trick.” She’d gotten closer to the Dwarrow while they were watching ‘Thorin’, and ducked between them, her eyes on the Dwarf who used to be her King. “The stone is real.” Her heart was pounding, and the thudding was almost painful, but she didn't let her hands shake as she continued, Dwalin moving behind her along with Bofur. “I gave it to them.”

Slowly, ‘Thorin’ turned to her, face nearly expressionless. “You.” 

She didn't look away from ‘Thorin’ as she spoke, instead holding his eyes, old habits ensuring she didn't show any of the fear crawling along her spine. “I took it as my fourteenth share.”

His eyes were odd, not Smaug’s, not Thrór’s, but not quite Thorin’s, either, as he whispered tonelessly, “You would steal from me?”

Hurt blooming in her chest, for all that she’d expected it, made her eyebrows shoot up. “Steal from you, no. Do my best to save you?” A pained sigh left her. “As I’ve always done, yes.” He took a step toward her, and she still couldn't tell who she was looking at. “I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.”

“Against your claim?” His voice broke, and Bella had to keep herself from moving toward him. 

“Thorin, I told you, I don’t care about the gold, I don’t care a whit about my claim!”

A mocking smirk contorted his face, the expression more Smaug than Thrór. “Your claim.” Thrór crept over Smaug, and a spike of panic jolted through her. “You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!” 

One of the Dwarrow behind her moved forward at the same time that ‘Thorin’ did, and she held her hand out behind her to stop them. _Don’t you dare get hurt because of me, don’t you bloody dare_. She kept the sudden, terrified, grieving tears from falling, but couldn't keep them out of her voice. “I was going to give it to you. I wanted to, but—”

“But what, thief?”

Smaug’s voice underlaying ‘Thorin’s’ only gave her voice greater conviction. “You are changed, Thorin. The Dwarf I met in Bag-End would never have scared me like this. Would never have gone back on his word. Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin, of his One!”

‘Thorin’s’ expression changed, broke, and Thorin, the real Thorin, shone through for an instant. “Do not speak to me of loyalty.” Thrór returned, and ‘Thorin’ advanced on her for a few steps before looking around as though he expected to see something, or someone, else. “Throw her from the rampart!” 

The Company recoiled from him, but Bella was frozen, heart pounding, _petrified_. _No, he… even if that’s not really Thorin, he wouldn’t do that, not really, not… not Thorin_.

He looked around wildly, turning to the Dwarrow behind him. “Did you not heAR ME?!” 

Grabbing Fíli’s arm, _nodon’thurthimnot’Undad_ , he tried to drag him toward Bella, but her brother jerked his arm out of ‘Thorin’s’ grasp. He slowed for a moment, _Mahal, Yavanna, Eru, let him snap out of it_ , and his eyes, _Thrór’s eyes_ , landed on Bella. “I will do it myself!” Still frozen, Bella couldn't get away in time to escape his hand wrapping around her throat, lifting her off the ground as he spun, dodging the Dwarrow who tried to grab him. “Curse you!” Her feet brushed against the edge of the ramparts, but she couldn't get enough of a grip to break free, and when her fingers, prying at his hand, failed to even budge it, she laid her hands on his arm, gripping him lightly. _Please, Yavanna, let the Zhauthiet break him out of it!_ But she knew it wouldn’t. His entire hand was around her neck, skin to _cold_ skin, _too cold for a Dwarf_ , and she felt only a stranger, the Zhauthiet completely gone. “Cursed be the wizard who forced you on this Company!”

Her vision was starting to flicker, her lungs burning, but she kept her eyes on his as best she could. The sound of somehow-amplified yelling was clear enough, though. “If you don’t like my Burglar, then please, don’t damage her. Return her to me.” Thorin stilled, though his hand didn't ease at all; everything was growing a little dimmer. “You’re not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?”

Her heart was beating frantically, and it seemed to take hours for ‘Thorin’s’ grip to loosen to the point that she fell to the floor, coughing harshly as she heaved great, greedy breaths into her lungs. Two sets of hands latched onto her arms and half-carried, half-dragged her to the rope she’d left in place early that morning, and she wasn’t surprised to see her brothers drawn faces hovering over her as they tied the rope around her waist and kissed her cheeks before gently lowering her down the wall. 

As she gripped the rope tightly, struggling to keep herself upright, she was still coughing, and panting raspily, but she could hear ‘Thorin’s’ voice. “Never again will I have dealings with wizards, or Shire rats!” Her feet touched stone, and she untied the rope quickly, scrambling across the statue in the blink of an eye.

“Are we resolved?” _I should've expected the Master to have such a one-track mind_. “The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised?” She fell to her knees once she was on solid ground, still too weak to support herself, but kept her head up, watching the Big Folk carefully, and the Dwarrow with concern. ‘Thorin’ moved away from the edge, looking distracted; her family were peering at her anxiously, and she shook her head at them. _You’re safest right where you are, for now_.

“Why should I buy back what is rightfully mine?” He was pacing the ramparts like a caged _dragon_ animal.

Thranduil’s words were the only thing that could have taken her attention from ‘Thorin’. “Keep the stone. Sell it. Turgon of Gondor will give you a good price for it.”

‘Thorin’ shouted, “I will kill you!”

His words may have been lost, somewhat, as Bella yelled at the same moment, “Do any such thing, you waste of an Elf, and I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to your elk!” The hoarse roar was almost as painful as Smaug’s burns had been, and she collapsed into a coughing fit as soon as the last word was out.

Thranduil sounded incredulous. “You would show this loathsome oath-breaker loyalty after what he’s done?” Gandalf had rushed to her, and now tried to help her up, but she swatted his hands away as soon as she was standing, albeit unsteadily, on her own.

Glaring at Thranduil, she refused to look toward the gates, although that meant she could see Bard’s stricken expression all too well. “My loyalty is to Thorin Oakenshield, not to the King Under the Mountain.”

Bard shifted a little closer to her, still obviously worried. “Surely after he—”

“NO!” The rasping snarl brought another wracking cough and nearly sent her to the ground again, but she continued as soon as she could. “That is NOT Thorin. I don’t know if it’s because of the gold, the Arkenstone, or that Mahal-cursed dragon, but my Voshel is gone, and you,” she yanked Gandalf’s robe roughly and glared at him when he met her eyes, forcing back tears, “are going to fix him. No excuses, no arriving too late, I don’t care what it’ll take, but fix him!”

“I’ve heard enough.” Thranduil turned away from the gates, motioning to the army, and all of the Elven soldiers readied their weapons. Even while adrenaline spiked through her, Bella felt her breathing quiet a fraction, her legs just a little stronger. There was silence for a few seconds, a tense, uneasy waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry. *evil grin* We're getting close to some big stuff.   
> Tiny Of Dwobbits, Dragons, and Dwarves reference, with the placement of the quiver. (If you haven't read that yet, go do that now; it's completely fantastic.) Also, Thranduil's quote about selling the Arkenstone is modified; this fic takes place in t.a. 2932, the movie takes place in t.a. 2941, and Ecthelion didn't succeed Turgon until t.a. 2953, so I'm blaming Jackson for that one. Everyone good with that?  
> (P.S., go read this: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613)  
> À bientôt!


	60. Gashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle begins.

Gandalf stepped forward, and Bella moved to the side, keeping her distance from Big Folk and Erebor alike, but able to see the Company. “Thorin, lay down your arms. Open these doors. This treasure will be your death.” The Dwarrow were still, all of their faces ashen, though she tried not to look at ‘Thorin’.

It was harder, now, to hear Balin’s voice from so far away, but she could hear her Adad, if only barely. “Thorin, we cannot win this fight.” 

‘Thorin’ bowed his head, the real Thorin shining through again, and despite herself, Bella felt a shred of hope flutter into her chest, _please,_ _please_ _, Eru,_ _please_ _bring him back to me_. “Give us your answer.” _Bard,_ _shut up_ _, let him think, let him see what he’s doing, don’t bring Thrór or Smaug back!_ “Will you have peace… or war?” The only sound for a heartbeat was the wind, carrying an odd, rhythmic thumping, but Bella ignored it; Thorin’s head was still bowed, and she held her breath, hope strengthening no matter how she tried to suppress it.

A huge black bird landed in front of Thorin, and Bella’s heart plummeted as he turned toward the east, expression darkening, and when he spoke, it was with Smaug’s voice. “I will have war.” 

Heart in her throat, blood running cold, Bella closed her eyes rather than look at ‘Thorin’. The thumping was coming from the direction he’d looked, and as it grew louder, she didn't need to look to know that it was the sound of an army marching.

“Ironfoot.” _Iron… as in Daín Ironfoot, as in Tho—_ Her neck throbbed. _…Dís’ cousin, from the Iron Hills, the lord… and commander_. She could hear faint shouts, now, orders in Khuzdûl, and the Company cheered. The sound wrenched at her heart, and she looked, fighting back tears, to see that Balin and Fíli, at least, weren’t joining in. They met her eyes, and she saw her sorrow reflected there. Thranduil rode into his army’s midst, calling out commands in Sindarin, and Bard rode to a group of Men while the Master flew past, heading to Dale.

“Ay! Thorin! Ironfoot has come!” The lone figure was still too far away for her to see any more details than red hair, and her only coherent thought as she moved to walk by Gandalf was _he sounds like Dwalin_.

“Do you know anything about him?”

Gandalf came to a stop, mournful eyes on her neck. “Out of he and Thorin, I have always found Thorin to be the more reasonable of the two.” He kept walking, Bella following numbly behind him. _Mahal, Eru,_ _please_ _, stop this_. They stopped just behind the laughably small group of Men, most of them the Master’s guards, and watched Daín advance. _Is… is that a pig?_

“Good morning! How are we all?” He sounded almost exactly like Kíli, setting up a prank, and Bella smiled weakly despite herself. The Men in front of her stiffened, gripping their weapons tightly, and her smile faded. _We could die. Everyone here could die. Why do Big Folk and Dwarrow have to do stupid things like go to war? Why can’t they do this sort of thing the Hobbit way and just steal a few mushrooms, start a few rumors?_ “I have a wee proposition if you wouldn't mind giving us a few moments of your time.” _Definitely setting up a joke_. “Would you consider… just sodding off?!” The last sentence was roared, and Bella sighed while the Big Folk either cringed back behind her and Gandalf or moved threateningly forward. _Definitely related to Dwalin_. “All of you! Right now!”

“Stand fast!” _Bard, I appreciate that you’re a born leader and all, but could you maybe lead your Men in the other direction?_

“Oh, come now, Lord Daín.”

Daín focused on Gandalf as he walked forward, but didn't seem to pay any attention to Bella. “Gandalf the Grey.” Solemnly, the wizard bowed his head in a respectful nod, _I’m not sure he appreciates that as much as you think_. “Tell this rabble to leave, or I’ll water the ground with their blood!”

“Don’t you bloody dare!” It wasn’t until Daín glared at her that Bella realized she’d yelled it in Khuzdûl. 

“You would expose our language, wench?”

 _Hostile version of Dwalin, with a dash of angry Thorin; show no fear, don’t be cowed_. She snorted, crossing her arms to draw attention to Sting. “Your army was yelling commands all the way here. I’m not doing anything you haven't already.”

Sneering, he cocked his head, _what was the poin… he’s showing off his beard. Seriously, a competition?_ _Now_ _?_ “What’s a child doing on a battlefield, anyway? Shouldn't you run home to your mummy and daddy?”

Her voice was still a little hoarse when she growled, but it _probably_ made her sound more mature. “My father is in Erebor, as likely to die as any soldier here, and I’m not about to lose him if I have a say in the matter!” _Don’t mention Undâd, don’t mention Irak’adad, don’t push it, who knows how he’ll react_. Drawing back, his eyes flicked over her more intently this time, lingering on her neck, _how big is the bruise, anyway?_ , and she squared her shoulders, ready to keep arguing.

Gandalf didn't give her the chance. “There is no need for war between Dwarves, Men, and Elves. A legion of Orcs march on the Mountain.” 

Involuntarily, she took a step back, feeling the blood drain from her face. _No. Orcs coming to Erebor means Azog, Azog means pain, Azog means he’s going to kill my family, kill Thorin, take me back, I’ll lose all of them, I barely had them and I’ll lose all of them, lose Erebor, no, nononono_ … Daín and Gandalf were still talking, but her blood was rushing in her ears, and all she could register was the vibrations of something loud reverberating underground. Daín turned and rode back uphill, Gandalf’s mouth moving as he yelled something after him. Gradually, the ringing in her ears faded, and she faintly heard Daín shout something about a ‘pointy-eared Princess’. _I feel like I should be insulted by that_.

“You hear that, lads? We’re on!” Even now that she could hear again, the ground still rumbled beneath her, and she tried not to remember Durin’s Day.

Gandalf put a hand on her back and bent to speak quietly to her. “Stay by my side, Bella, dear. This may turn very ugly.” _Bet I’ve seen uglier_. The violence ahead of them didn't scare Bella, she’d had pain, she’d seen pain, but she knew enough of war to recognize that most of these people wouldn't walk away from this, and that? That scared her.

As the Dwarrow on the hill shouted battle-cries, Thranduil called to Bard, “Stand your men down. I’ll deal with Ironfoot and his rabble.” Bard didn't look happy, but he obeyed as the Elven ranks marched past him. Wide-eyed, Bella watched them go by, but she lightly held her bow, and felt her hands settle as they had when she fought the Spiders. _Panicking never did anyone any good, an— did he say goats?_ A huge number of goats big enough to ride poured out of the Dwarven ranks, running down the hill toward them; the tremors were even worse now, but they didn't seem to be related to the Dwarrow. It set Bella’s teeth on edge.

Thranduil called for his archers to ready themselves, and Bella, after a moment’s thought, drew her bow, as well. _I’m not one of them, and I won’t fight against the Dwarrow, but I’ll defend myself, if I have to_. She backed away until she was a little ways behind Bard, where she could see, but, _hopefully_ , not be seen. Gandalf stormed toward the Elvenking. “Thranduil! This is madness!”

 _“Fire!”_ The Elves loosed so many arrows it looked like a swarm of birds, and Bella’s heart lodged in her throat. _Nononooonno—_

Daín yelled something, words Bella didn't know, and bizarre, twirling things sped toward the arrows and destroyed them in mid-air. Despite herself, Bella had to fight back a proud grin. _That’s Dwarven engineering for you!_ That urge vaporized as the twirlers slammed into the Elven forces, and she heard the soldiers scream. “Hey! How do you like that, the old twirly-whirlies?! You buggers!” 

Elven blood smelled different from Hobbit blood, apparently; more sweet, less coppery. There was more than enough soaking into the shuddering earth for her to smell, but the other Elves ignored it, ignored their fallen brethren, and fired another volley on Thranduil’s command. More twirly-whirlies came as the goat-riders neared the Elves, now so close that Bella couldn’t see them over the Big Folk’s heads, but could feel them in the ground as well as hear them, the pounding in a different rhythm from the one that was still growing louder. They leapt into sight, over the Elves, coming closer every second, and Bella heard her family’s voices in the distance, yelling for her. _Don’t you bloody dare come get me, don’t you bloody dare get yourselves killed for me!_

The rumbling came to a crest, now joined by an audible counterpart, coming from the south-east. The battle slowed to a standstill, an unspoken armistice as what could only be another threat grew nearer, roaring as it did. _The Orcs. Azog_. A massive snake  thing burst out of the hills, roaring defiance as two more joined it. The only sound coming from the field was Daín’s eloquent exclamation, “Oh, come on!” Bella rechecked her quivers and rested her hand on Sting’s hilt for a moment. _Not getting close enough for a sword if I can help it, but I’m glad I had so many lessons_. Another two snake-things burst out, then all five retreated. _What_ —

“ **Come forth, my armies!** ” _AZOG_. She spun, heart pounding, as a deafening horn sounded, barely avoiding hitting a Man near her, and saw her _former_ holder standing on a hill, with a battle-flag already in place. He was far enough away that even if he tried, he couldn't touch her, but her scars ached regardless of the reality.

Daín shouted in Khuzdûl, again, with only a word or two that she recognized, but just the sound was enough to bring her back to the present and remind her, _I am_ _not_ _his property,_ _not_ _his possession, he does_ _not_ _hold me anymore, and he will_ _not_ _take another family from me!_ “The hordes of hell are upon us! Fight to the death!” 

 _Hordes of hell, indeed_. There were more Orcs coming toward them now than Bella had seen in eleven years of slavery; the Dwarrow soldiers raced to meet them, roaring challenges. The battlefield felt empty without them, and too quiet.

“The Elves.” _If the Dwarrow stand alone, they_ _will_ _die, and I’m not enough help_. “Will they not fight?” Thranduil was too far away to talk to, but Bella caught his eye; she gestured to his army, then pointed toward the Orcs, glaring. The Elvenking looked more uncertain than she’d ever seen him, even when she was wandering around Mirkwood, but the turmoil only lasted a moment before it cleared and he signaled his forces. They ran forward, and all Bella could do was grin, genuinely grateful, at Thranduil before nocking an arrow and turning back to the fight. 

They were still too far away for her to hit, but— “ **Send in the War Beasts!** ” _No, please_ _Eru_ _, no!_

Azog’s horn still blaring, Gandalf looked at her sharply. “What is it?!” _Oh, did I say that out loud?_

Shaking her head to clear it, Bella’s attention snapped toward the sound of the Olog-hai half-breeds’ advance, as did Gandalf’s. “ **Destroy their war machines!** ” More Olog appeared, these specifically targeting the ram-drawn chariots that moved through the field. Bella could only watch, wanting to run and help _and kill all of the Orcs, cripple them, feed them to their foul pets_ , but knowing that she would be a liability, at best. “ **Attack the city!** ”

Bella grabbed Gandalf’s sleeve desperately. “They’re going after Dale!” A moment after that, chanting in Black Speech began, an even greater army, by the sound of it, and Bella fought the urge to jam her fingers in her ears and hide. “We have to help them!”

He nodded sharply as Bard ordered much the same. “To the city!” She ran alongside him, grateful for the months of hard travel that enabled her to keep up with his longer legs. As they neared Dale, the scents of blood, _sweet:_ Elf; _iron:_ Dwarf; and _acid:_ Orc alike surrounding them, boulders crashed into the walls of the city, quickly followed by another Olog and a flood of Orcs. _Bain, Sigrid, Tilda, stay low, stay safe, your father’s on his way and so am I._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but it's mostly just setting up the next few, so... eh. It's good enough. I'm also kind of ambivalent about Daín; I've seen versions where he's a jerk, and others where he's basically a jolly Dwalin, and there's little enough about him in the movie that he can go either way. This version leans a little more toward the latter, in case you couldn't tell.  
> Also, it's Tolkien canon (or at least movie canon) that trolls, by and large, can't tolerate sunlight, but Tolkien also mentions (don't ask me where) that there's a type of light-resistant troll called an Olog, which are also much more intelligent than most trolls. The ones in BotFA are out in the daylight, but they're also very clearly *not* intelligent, so Olog-hai half-breeds, there ya go. (They were specifically bred by Azog, but all of them were lost in the Battle, so that's why they didn't show up before LoTR, in my 'verse.)  
> Next chapter... *evil laughter* ...next chapter, Thorin's PoV. You're, uh... I think you're probably going to want something fluffy to tide you over.  
> (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613)  
> À bientôt!


	61. Ze'gashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *It's my own design  
> It's my own remorse  
> Help me to decide  
> Help me make the most of freedom  
> And of pleasure  
> Nothing ever lasts forever  
> Everybody wants to rule the world*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*edit* I just realized that the summary didn't show up the first time I posted this. Dangit. Just imagine little music notes at the beginning and end.)   
> Feel free to listen to the Lorde version of that while you read. (^u^) Also, I use a ton of Khuzdûl in this chapter, so I'm going to put a mini-glossary at the end, including for words I've already given the meanings to; if you don't know how to search the page, just do 'command+F' on a Mac or 'Ctrl+F' on a PC if you don't recognize a word. Hope that's useful!
> 
> By the way, sorry about the late update, but we're babysitting my nephew and it's virtually impossible to concentrate when there's a four-year-old running around.

_This isn't right, I should be there with her, I shouldn't have let her go by herself, I shouldn't have let her come in the first place! I should have insisted Gandalf take her home as soon as I realized how young she is!_ Thorin ran his hands through his hair with a growl, pivoting to pace the length of the landing again. He hadn't been able to stop moving since Bella walked into the Mountain, _since I sent her in to face a rukhsul_ _dragon_ _!_ Her family was no better: Kíli was tapping his fingers and feet on the stone, where he was sitting, in a rapid tattoo; Fíli had sharpened his swords at least three times over, and showed no signs of stopping; Dwalin was eerily still, his eyes fixed on the doorway; Balin was stoic, his hands toying with his beard in the only visible sign of his anxiety. The rest of the Company weren't unaffected. Ori looked as though he were barely holding back tears, Bofur was expressionless for once, Bifur and Nori had identical worried frowns, and the other four were grim. All of them had grown to care for her, her family to love her dearly, and Thorin…

Thorin had known that he loved her since sometime in between Rivendell and the Goblin Caves. He wasn't sure exactly when his feelings for her had gone from ‘I could love her’ to ‘I already do’, but they’d only strengthened as the months went by, and now, now he’d watched her walk into the halls he’d grown up in, to face the monster that had taken so much, destroyed so much, _Mahal, protect her, Eru, let the worm be asleep_. And she’d done so convinced that she didn't belong with them, _with me_ , that they _I_ would rather be in empty hallways than with her, as if she weren’t more precious than any gold or gems could ever be. _I never told her_. 

Thorin froze, looking down at the statue she’d seen, the staircase she’d found. _She pushed me away, but Dwalin’s been so convinced that she does care for me, and she tried to get me to wait, she was the one who saw the keyhole, she was so beautiful in the moonlight and_ _I_ _never_ _told_ _her_ _. I left her outside when I should have known she wasn't following us, I let her go in without a word when I should have told her how I felt in every language I know, should have sworn to her that she would_ _never_ _feel unwanted or unwelcome again, for as long as I live. That she would always be safe with me_.

“I’m going in.” Turning around, Thorin saw that Kíli had pushed himself to his feet, expression black. “Don’t any of you dare try to keep me away from my Nan’ith. She’s been in there too long already.”

Sheathing his weapons, Fíli stood and clapped his brother on the shoulder. Dwalin and Bifur nodded soberly, Balin moving to their side in a clear show of support, and the rest of the Company followed quickly. They looked to Thorin, and there was no choice, not really. _I’m not leaving her again_. He drew Orcrist as he strode to the door, and they made their way through the tunnel in relative silence. _She’d probably say we’re as loud as trolls, if_ — He clenched his jaw, gripping his hilt even tighter against the chill that swept through him. _Kaminzabdûna, I don’t have any right to address you, but_ _please_ _— She’s your child, and she shouldn’t pay the price for a Stone-Born’s stubbornness._ _Please, protect her…_

 _Eru, protect her_. 

They heard her before they reached the mouth of the tunnel. “… me. My home is far behind me, and just within reach.”

 _What is she—_ “What business would a Princess have in my Mountain?” _It’s awake_. Dwalin tapped Thorin on the arm, and he realized he’d stopped moving, as well as breathing. _Home behind and in reach, what d— She’s toying with it, riddling like she did with Gollum_. He started moving again almost without realizing, as quietly as before, but with far more purpose. _Keep him busy, Lukhdelê, just a few more seconds_. “Perhaps the legends of my wealth tempted you to steal a few trinkets.”

Her reply came just as they stepped in view of the treasure, and Thorin had to focus on her voice to keep his mind from lingering on the _vast, glorious amounts of_ gold. “I have no need of mathoms or crowns. Your treasure holds absolutely no interest to me.” With an effort, Thorin scanned the room, ignoring the riches before him, and his eyes locked on Bella. She put all the wealth of Erebor to shame, made even the gold dull in comparison, more vivid, _brilliant, radiant_ , than anything else in the room, _including Smaug_. The worm was looming over her while she sat on a pile near a pillar, tiny in comparison to the massive dragon, and Thorin fought the urge to _slay the beast now_ , knowing that he would have a fraction more chance of succeeding than he would of turning into a dragon himself. The Company fanned out beside him, and _obviously_ the worm had hearing as good as a Hobbit’s, as it turned to face the Dwarrow. In a motion almost too quick to see, it grabbed Bella around the legs and moved closer to them, holding her aloft. _I’ll see you cook in your own fire for that alone, worm_.

“So, I suppose these are your Guards, little Princess.”

Thorin couldn't take his eyes off Bella, barely able to make out her expression at this distance, but she answered the snake evenly, much as she had the Trolls, all those months ago. “They are, actually. I hired them to serve as my shields for the journey. I’m not exactly a trained warrior, you know.” _And yet, still one of, if not the most capable woman I know_. She motioned to Smaug subtly, and Thorin kept his eyes on the drake while she gestured, knowing Smaug would be watching him closely, if it knew who he was, and there were others in the Company who would catch whatever message she was trying to pass on.

Smaug was looking them over with a draconic sneer, but Thorin heard Kíli whisper lowly in Khuzdûl, “Nan’ith says aim for under his heart, the left side of his chest.” _Saving us from ourselves as usual, Lukhdelê_.

“And you thought these sheep could protect you?” The worm snorted, and Bella’s expression changed, became almost pained _you will die, worm, and you will die tonight_. “A thousand of their kind couldn't hope to defeat me when I took their city; what are thirteen against my might?” As the drake stepped forward, it dropped Bella, _as though she were nothing_ , and Thorin couldn't help but cry out as it roared, “My teeth are swords!” She had rolled down a pile, and now slid to a stop, now stood unsteadily; Thorin readied Orcrist as Smaug approached. “My claws spears!” While Fíli gave Bifur quiet directions that Thorin paid no mind to, _I trust his judgement,_ Bella ran underneath Smaug and disappeared, _keep going, love, and don’t stop until you’re safe_. “My wings a hurricane!” Said wings were spread intimidatingly, and the worm’s head only yards away. “My breath is death!”

“That’s true enough; I nearly suffocated when I got a whiff earlier!” Smaug and Thorin’s heads whipped around to her voice almost simultaneously, and Thorin’s heart nearly stopped when he saw Bella on the stone below them, backing to the left, to a staircase, but her expression was fearless. “You don’t need fire, just breathe on your enemies and they’ll beg you to kill them!” She fell back onto the stairs, and only the sight of the weak point she’d indicated to Kíli rising past as the worm raised itself up kept Thorin from running out to her. “I don’t know why you haven't killed me already! Obviously you’ve grown slow and fat, here in your hideaway.” Smaug snarled, the sound deafening as close as they were to it, and part of his chest, near his throat, lightened ominously. Kíli and Bifur caught his attention, weapons ready, and glancing between them and the dragon, Thorin guessed at their plan and nodded sharply, gesturing to Dwalin. The two of them would lead the Company in distracting the worm while Kíli and Bifur waited for the right time to strike. He took a few steps forward just as Bella continued. “In fact, I’d almost think I was talking to an old slug!”

She turned and bolted up the stairs while Smaug roared, the stone itself shaking with the noise, and Thorin saw her hide behind a pillar an instant before flames surged forward to wrap around the make-do shield. Thorin was already moving when she started screaming, and nearly skewered himself at the sound. That sort of wordless, bloodcurdling scream brought forth memories of Azog, of Mirkwood, of Lake-Town, of all her worst sufferings and of how close she’d come to leaving them forever. A battle-cry tore from his throat, and the sheer speed of the Company’s attack, of his attack, was likely the only reason the drake didn't simply squash them. He stopped flaming at the pillar, _run while you can, Bella_ , but as with the Trolls, the Company kept scattering every few seconds and striking, however futilely, as they ran, and for a few seconds, Smaug seemed to be too caught off-guard to kill them, even to notice the arrows that sprouted from its weak point. The flames were rising in its chest again, and Thorin’s mind raced for a way to distract it from the Company.

“Witless worm, you call yourself a dragon?” _No!_ “An  Orc wouldn't have been outwitted so quickly!” Bella’s taunt achieved what she’d sought; Smaug’s attention was again fixed on her as it readied another flame. Wildly, Thorin signaled Bifur to throw his spear, and leapt forward, with Bofur and Nori, to strike at its feet, to unbalance it. It was Nori who began to try and trip it, and Thorin followed his lead eagerly. Nothing happened for a heartbeat, then its leg jerked and they succeeded; it fell forward, onto the bare patch and the boar-spear now jutting out of it, Thorin and the others barely getting out from underneath it in time. 

The treasury was silent, the only sound in the vast room coming from the Company, and Thorin didn't stop Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin from running up to Bella, but he didn't follow them. _You see to her, I’ll see that this slug is dealt with_. It was still, unmoving, but Thorin didn't trust it an inch. “Cut its head off. I don’t care if it takes all night, but find a way to do it.” The Company murmured their agreement, and Thorin moved up to its head. _You took my mother, my home, most of my people. And my One, my Vashil, my Queen, she was the one to defeat you, really. We might have killed you, but she’s the only reason we had the chance. How does it feel, to be outsmarted by a Dwarven Queen, a Hobbit Princess, a warrior-woman half as big as your toe?_

As he smirked grimly at the slug, _remind me to thank you for that, Bella, I’m never calling it anything else now_ , the eye facing him cracked open. Even only seeing a sliver of it, the menace pouring out toward Thorin was almost tangible, and he froze despite himself, everything around him fading in the face of such malevolence, every thought but those of the eye still fixed on him fleeing, his mind numbing as the interminable moment passed. Finally, the eye fell shut, and Thorin came back to himself.

A noise caught his attention, and he glanced sharply to the side to see that Balin was standing beside him. “Lad, did you hear me? Bella’s being treated at the moment, but you’ll be able to see her in the morning, at the latest.” _Bella? The Burglar_.

He nodded, moving around the dragon to look over his gold. “We have much to do, Balin.” The corpse would have to be disposed of, the gold cleaned until it once again shone, and he would need to find his crown. Thrór’s crown, perhaps; after all, it had always been the most adorned, as befit the King Under the Mountain. As befit the King.

 

The gold’s glow was hypnotic, as it had been since they entered the Mountain. He had found Thrór’s crown, as well as the robes of his station, and had worn them proudly since. Making contact with the ravens had been a priority, calling his subjects home from the Iron Hills and from Ered Luin, but now that the messages had been sent, there was nothing keeping him from his gold. _I haven't spoken to Fíli or Kíli in days, Bella in almost a fortnight, I should_ — The treasure drew his eyes back down, and he was barely conscious of the words leaving him as he walked forward. “Gold.” _That brought death to my people, ruin to my grandfather, took everything from m_ — Shining, gleaming, radiant wealth. “Gold beyond measure. Beyond sorrow… and grief.” 

Eyes tracking along the glittering piles, a flash of _gold, pure, lovely g_ — yellow drawing his attention to the figure standing above him _always above me, she’s far better than I_. Why did he think that the Burglar’s hair was gold before? In the light of such perfection, her paltry _beautiful_ coloring proved to be nothing more than blonde, her eyes only amber. She was as base as any Man or Elf, vastly _superior_ inferior to Dwarven majesty. But still, she had assisted him in reclaiming his wealth, and had made no motions thus far to take any of ‘her’ share _she never will, she doesn't want gold, she wants love, family, to belong_ , and so should receive a welcome to view his riches.

“Behold the great treasure hoard of Thrór.” _I’m not my grandfather, not my grandfather—_ The gold pulled his eyes down again, and he knew he would never tire of looking at it. He didn't notice the motion until the Burglar was halfway down the steps, and he watched her slow as she descended until she froze, _shaking, she needs help, needs to get away from whatever’s doing that_ a few yards from the gold, just a step or two below the lowest landing, and he moved toward her.

Her voice took him off guard _she sounds afraid_ , as did her words. “I was looking for Bombur.”

“Bombur?” _Why would she be looking for Bombur, why not her family, why not me_ — Why would she look for him? She was nothing but a Halfling _not half of anything_ , and common-born at that _no, she’s not_. Her expression was conflicted, and he didn't understand why. If she was as unaffected by the gold as she claimed to be, why would she look so afraid of him? “He’s searching for the Arkenstone, as he should be.” Why wasn't she helping them, was she plotting something? “As you should be, with the rest of the Company.” 

She retreated up the stairs _why are you afraid of me, Bella_ , but stopped after a moment and held her ground while he walked closer. “I can’t. I can barely stand to be this close to it.” _This close, like Mirkwood? Why don’t you run, Lukhdelê, run and get away from the ghosts in this place, run like I wish I could._

The toe of his boot bumped into the bottom stair, but he barely felt it, too focused on her words _to see her right in front of me, she’s right there_ , she must have something in mind, must be trying to lead him to think she was repelled by the treasure so that she could steal it when he wasn't watching. “Why wouldn't you want to be near the gold?”

She hesitated, _gold_ dull amber eyes flicking between his. “It… hurts my feet, to walk on it.” Then why wouldn't she wear boots, why wouldn't she do whatever she had to in order to get as close as possible to the gold, as he would, as any  Dwarrow would. “If you need me to help look, I could watch from the balconies. I’m too small to see anything from ground level, anyway.” That was true enough; she was barely at his level as it was, and so feeble-looking that she’d probably be crushed if there was a coin-slide. She had the best eyes in the Company, as well, and if she really were as altruistic as she acted, she’d see if any of his Company tried to steal from him.

He nodded. “You’ll go straight up.”

Eyes still fixed on his, and expression cautious, she shook her head. “I’m needed in the kitchen right now, and so is Bombur.”

So _she’s been in the kitchen_ that’s why she hasn’t been here, looking _she’s been taking care of my Company_ she should have been here _making sure they’re fed and healthy, and Mahal, she’s perfect, Lukhdelê, Ze’ê_. “Always practical.” Some of the tension in her shoulders eased—

A crash came from out of sight, one of those clumsy miners bringing his gold down on himself, but he couldn't see from the landing, the gold blocking his view… No, that wasn't right. Why would the gold be blocking anything when the gold was what he was looking at, was the only thing worth looking at in the entire Mountain. A noise caught his attention, and movement beside him drew his eyes down to the Burglar. “You’ll watch from the balconies when you aren't needed in the kitchens, and Bombur will distribute the food at mealtimes. We’ve wasted too much time going to and from the dining areas, rather than eating here.”

And he’d wasted too much time talking to an o-Khazâd peasant, when he should have been watching his gold, looking for his birthright. Anything else was pointless.

 

He was pacing. There was no way to keep all of the Dwarrow in sight, no way to keep them from stealing his gold, not alone. The Burglar was across the way, with _her father_ the kidizbâha, leaning against him, and neither were looking at the gold. What exactly was the point of keeping them around if they weren't going to do what they were told? _Because I love her, because he’s my friend, because the two of them have more common sense in one hand than I’ve had in my entire life_. He growled. If they thought they could stand around, doing nothing, they were sorely mistaken. 

It took a few minutes to circle around to where he’d seen them, during which he saw Balin reenter the treasury. It didn't matter. Even if he was returning to his task, the Burglar had been just as remiss. If she was watching, as she was meant to, _as she has been, faithfully, when she could and should easily leave_ , then he would be merciful. If not—

She was sitting beside the archway, not watching the Company, and she had something in her hand, something she was turning over and examining as though it were the most precious gem in the Mountain, and he stormed toward her. “What is that? In your hand?!”

Standing, _terrified of me, she shouldn't be afraid, why am I scaring her_ she jumped back, and her voice quavered. “It’s nothing.”

“Show me.” She stole his birthright, she stole from him, and she would pay, she wo— An acorn. The ‘precious gem’ she’d held was an acorn _, why am I surprised, she could find contentment amidst Elves if they had enough greenery_.

“I picked it up in Beorn’s garden.” _The garden where we talked, where she confided in me, where_ _Mahal_ _, she’d looked so beautiful, so like the Queen I’ve waited for_.

“You’ve carried it all this way?” Her face was still guarded, but she was beginning to relax, almost imperceptibly.

“I’m going to plant it in my garden.” _She’s so proud of that, of_ _her_ _garden;_ He couldn't stop a smile from creeping over his face _, of course she would choose a plant over gold, over jewels, has there ever been anyone less greedy?_

A hint of teasing tainted his words. “It’s a poor prize to take back to the Shire.”

“One day, it’ll grow. And every time I look at it, I’ll remember everything that’s happened, good, bad…” _Mahal, why did you ever choose someone so good for my One? She’s too good for someone as wretched as me, and too beautiful when she smiles, why’d she have to smile now? How could I have ever thought metal was more dear than her when she so completely outshines everything in the Mountain?_

“Thorin, I—” 

A shout came from the treasury, one of the miners, undoubtably, and he moved to the balcony to scan his wealth. Dori and Gloin were examining a chest filled with a familiar set of jewels. With a triumphant grin, he made his way down to the floor, just in time to chase away the vultures lurking around his plunder, and he smiled as he inspected what he remembered to be the jewel of “The white gems of Lasgalen.” _Starlight cradled by silver;_ Too dainty for Dwarven discernment, but perfect for _Hobbits_ weed-eaters. “I know an Elf lord who’ll pay a pretty penny for these.”

He moved to toss the necklace back onto the chest, _Bella likes Elven styles, it’s light enough for her to wear, its colorlessness would make her hair and eyes even more striking_ , but he stilled. The Melkor-spawn of a so-called king wanted these more than anything in the Mountain. They’d belonged to his late wife, if memory served, _and Thrór was wrong to keep them from him_ and nothing would infuriate the arrogant reprobate like seeing his property in another’s hands. Or around a Halfling’s neck.

It took a scant minute to locate the Burglar again, and he tossed the necklace at her as he passed. “For a real prize.” He didn't know if she heard him, and he didn't care.

 

It was over a week before anything came of his suspicions. The Burglar, necklace out of sight, but easily reached if the weed-eater did appear, had been assigned the dawn-watch. It was the shortest watch out of the Company _because she needs the rest_ as the only reason she had it was that her eyes adjusted to the rising sun the most quickly. She would watch until the sun was fully over the horizon, at which time one of the Dwarrow would relieve her. But that morning, rather than a feeble Halfling bringing the Company breakfast, one of the miners ran in and shouted that the Elves had come. 

He outpaced them easily, as he’d started from a higher level, and ascended the gate to see the Burglar standing, unmoving apart from her twitching ears, to which he barely spared a glance, at the battlements, _she looks cold_ but she moved aside to clear space for him. He laid a hand on the stone to balance him as he leaned forward. A Man on a horse rounded a bend, and he recognized Bard after a few seconds. “Hail Thorin, son of Thrain.” _Son of Thrór_. “We are glad to see you alive beyond hope.”

Beyond hope? They’d _worried that Smaug would kill us_ thought they could wait out the battle and loot Erebor once all was said and done. Fire kindled in his chest as he answered. “Why do you come to the gates of the King Under the Mountain armed for war?”

“Why does the King Under the Mountain fence himself in, like a robber in his hold?” _There’s only one Burglar here, and she’s far too honorable for something like that_.

“Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed.” By Bard, by the Master, by the Dwarrow. There wasn't a soul alive that didn't lust after the wealth of Erebor _except Hobbits, except Bella_.

“My lord, we have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement. Will you not speak with me?” Now that he realized the King Under the Mountain would not be fooled so easily, now the Man wore a conciliatory expression. Very well. If the Man wanted to play at politics, he would oblige. He motioned Bard forward and descended the stairs, only realizing after he positioned himself just behind the small tunnel that the Burglar had followed him closely, and now watched him _she’s here to help_ challengingly.

She wouldn't dissuade him from this, and he wouldn't let her affect him as she _always has, without lifting a finger_ obviously thought she could. He stepped forward, to watch Bard out of the corner of his eye. “I’m listening.”

“On behalf of the people of Lake-Town, I ask that you honor your pledge. The Master seeks his promised payment, and there are many in the town who ask for the lost wealth of Dale to be returned.” He turned slowly to face the Man as he continued. “Now that the worm is gone, as it must be, we can start to rebuild our lives in our ancestral home.” _Much as we wish to, much as I’ve wished to for most of my life, and the pledge was made in good faith_.

Fancy words to hide his patent greed. “I will not treat with any man while an armed host lies before my door.” 

The Man had the nerve to look sincere as he tried to intimidate him. “That armed host will attack this Mountain if we do not come to terms.”

Even if this bargeman was a friend of Erebor, he’d indubitably been sent by the Mirk-lord or the ‘Master’ of Lake-town. _You really are as good as Bella, aren't you? Or nearly, anyway_. “And your threats do not sway me.”

“He’s not threatening us, he’s warning us!” The Burglar sounded fiercer than she had since long before they’d recovered his Mountain, but the Man spoke at nearly the same time.

“What of your conscience? Does it not tell you that our cause is just?”

“Thorin.” He scoffed. He was the King Under the Mountain, the Lord of Silver Fountains. He hadn't been Thorin Oakenshield _since Smaug_ since their victory. He fell back, out of Bard’s view, to inspect the Company. They were all assembled before him, all geared for battle, though they would need to search the armory for better equipment. They would be a match for however many Men and leaf-eaters marched on them. _No, they won’t, not with how many troops Thranduil brought_.

“Begone!” No sound came from the tunnel for a moment, and he turned his head toward it with a roar. “Ere our arrows fly!” The Burglar’s eyes were _disappointed_ condemning, and he paid them no mind as he returned to the gates to watch the bargeman ride off.

“What are you doing?” _Mahal, she sounds terrified_. “You cannot go to war.”

He didn't bother to turn to look at the Burglar; she’d be shaking like a leaf, no doubt, like the fragile _not fragile never fragile_ Halfling _don’t call her that_ she was. “This does not concern you.”

Her retort was immediate, and steadier than he’d expected. “Excuse me, but just in case you haven't noticed, there is an army of Elves out there. We are, in fact, outnumbered.”

That’s what she thinks _because she’s right_. He turned to her with a small smile. “Not for much longer.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

Slowly, he walked to her, enjoying the way she shifted her stance unconsciously. “It means, Bella,” she froze, eyes wide, and he kept moving until he was nearly touching her, “You should never underestimate Dwarrow.” _Just kiss her, she’s right there, kiss her, hug her, do_ _something_ _!_ As he moved to face the Company again, he spoke a little louder. “We have reclaimed Erebor. Now, we defend it.” But would these Dwarrow fight with him? They were after the gold, they must be, and the Arkenstone still hadn't been found. The beginnings of a thought niggled at him, but he would not show weakness in front of Dwarrow such as these. Turning, he descended again, thinking of Dwarrow, of greed, and the likelihood that his birthright had already been found.

 

Hours later, in the armory, watching the Dwarrow and trying to see the signs of guilt that would surely accompany a crime such as treason, motion caught his eye. The Burglar was standing several yards down the hall, and he remembered the armor he’d found. 

“Bella. Come here.” She was an archer, it would only make sense to use her in the coming battle, but a splinter would probably be enough to kill her, let alone the weed-eaters’ arrows. She approached slowly, _she’s afraid_ and he didn't move as she did. “You’re going to need this. Put it on.” As he spoke, and after a moment’s hesitation, she slid off her jacket, and he could see the ridges of the necklace under her collar. “This vest is made of silver steel.” _She’s wearing the fitted shirt, is she trying to kill me?_ Following the sudden urge to distance himself from her, he raised the shirt between them, _that only makes her look more alluring, oh,_ _Mahal_ _._ “Mithril, it was called by my forebears.” For a few seconds, she just stood there dumbly, and blushed as she ducked into the shirt, _if there wasn't a battle tomorrow, by Mahal, I’d propose now, have Balin marry us, and spend weeks finding all the things that bring color to your cheeks_ , and released the shirt, stepping back. “No blade can pierce it.”

While he circled her, she pivoted to follow him, and when the shirt was on, the light from the armory illuminated her figure well. The mail fell loosely around her waist and hips, nearly to mid-thigh, but accentuated her curves enough that he couldn't look away. The rest of the Dwarrow fell silent, and she ducked her head, hunching her shoulders fractionally. “I look absurd.” _Believe me, Lukhdelê, that’s the last word I’d use to describe you right now_. “I’m not a warrior, I’m a Hobbit.” _But you_ _are_ _a warrior, you’ve saved me, my Company, more than you know. And a warrior needs her armor._

“It is a gift.” She raised her head to meet his eyes, and she was _solid gold in the firelight, more breathtaking than any Dwarrowdam could ever be_ apparently surprised by something; her eyes widened. “A token of my regard, and our friendship.” _You’re the most trustworthy, honorable, sensible person I know, save perhaps your father_ The Company was still watching them. “True friends are hard to come by.” Grabbing the shoulder of the mithril, he _gently, gently_ hauled her down the hall, _not too far, don’t scare her_ and stopped just out of the Company’s earshot, speaking lowly as he did, “I have been blind, but now I begin to see. I am betrayed!” _By everyone except you, Ze’ê_.

Concern filled her eyes, and he felt _comforted_ gratified by the open display. “Betrayed?”

“The Arkenstone.” As he leaned in, lowering his voice, she kept her eyes down. “One of them has taken it.” Probably one of the miners, they’re all thieves, anyway. He glanced over the Dwarrow, guessing and second-guessing who might have been the traitor. But did it matter who? All of them were just waiting for an opportunity to take his gold, the Burglar, ironically, the only person in the Mountain he could be sure was innocent. “One of them is false.”

Her expression altered, just slightly, to something more strained. “Thorin, the quest is fulfilled. You’ve won the Mountain. Is that not enough?”

 _The Mountain is nothing, not if I can’t trust the Dwarrow who swore their allegiance to me_ The Hobbit obviously had no idea how it felt, to fear your own so-called family’s motives. “Betrayed by my own kin.”

Her ears twitched back, and her brows lowered a fraction. “No, you— you made a promise to the Master, signed a contract and everything; helping Dale will only strengthen Erebor. Is this treasure truly worth more than your honor?” How could Men ever strengthen Dwarrow? They were weaker, inherently, for all their height, as were weed-eaters. And what was honor worth without power? What was power without wealth? And what was wealth without gold? “Our honor, Thorin, my name’s on that contract, too.”

Because the honor of an o-Khazâd peasant Burglar was worth so much. But if it soothed her ego… “For that, I am grateful,” he smiled, “it was nobly, regally, done,” Not regally, _yes regally_ , amusingly, at best. “but the treasure in this Mountain does not belong to the people of Lake-Town. This gold…” 

Is worth more than your fleeting little life, is mine, and Erebor is mine, and I am Erebor. 

“… is ours. And ours alone.” 

He backed away from her. 

“By my life, I will not part with a single coin.” 

Her eyes shone as fear poured from her as tangibly as gold through his fingers, and he sneered at her weakness. 

“Not one piece of it.” 

The Dwarrow walked between them, but he could still see the way her lips quivered, how the firelight caught in the tears gathered along her lower lid. She was as craven as he’d ever thought her race, which was likely the only reason she hadn't stolen from him yet. But still, she held his gaze until she walked away with the Dwarrow, so she must have a sliver of spine.

 

The mirk-lord and the two Men moved easily through the army, the Elves parting before them to clear a path. He looked down on them easily, holding back a smirk at how plain they looked when compared with the Dwarven craftsmanship in his armor, his weapons, his crown. But they were threats nonetheless, and must be dealt with accordingly. And so, as the three intruders emerged from the crowd, he sent a warning shot just in front of the mirk-lord’s mount. No point in killing him now when there was still a chance he would see reason and bow to him, as was only right. “I will put the next one between your eyes.” 

There was only ‘a’ chance, after all. The Dwarrow cheered as he drew back another arrow, jeering at the weed-eater and Men. The mirk-lord smiled, and the Dwarrow, cowards that they were, ducked as the legions of weed-eaters readied a volley. He didn't move. Even the mirk-lord wouldn't be so bold as to strike at him. 

The chief of the weed-eaters gestured to his troops after the bargeman looked at him, and spoke condescendingly, above his station. “We have come to tell you that payment of your debt has been offered and accepted.”

By who? “What payment? I gave you nothing.” They were calling his bluff, or trying to, witless as the effort was. “You have nothing.”

The bargeman reached into his jacket and pulled out— “We have this.” 

The Man held the Arkenstone, his fellow nearly salivating as he goggled at it, and it shone in the light just as he remembered. He barely felt his arms lower, barely heard the roar from beside him as he stared into the scintillating depths of his birthright, his property. 

The bargeman shrugged. “And the King may have it,” he tossed the Arkenstone and caught it, the way the light glinted off of it the only reason he didn't kill the Man there and then, “With our goodwill.” The peasant had the audacity to meet his eyes as he hid the Arkenstone again. “But first, he must honor his word.”

If that whelp thought the King Under the Mountain would bow to anyone, o-Khazâd or otherwise, he would learn, and learn painfully. How could they have gotten the Arkenstone, anyway? Either they would've had to enter the Mountain, which no Dwarrow, no matter how greedy they, themselves were, would stoop to, or a Dwarrow would've had to have taken it to them, which was equally impossible. 

He smiled. “They are taking us for fools.” Which made them even stupider than he’d thought. “This is a ruse. A filthy lie.” An insult to Dwarrow as well as to him, and fire kindled in his chest. “The Arkenstone is in this Mountain! It is a trick!”

“It’s no trick.” The Burglar. He’d forgotten about her, hadn't noticed whenever she’d ascended to the landing, and her voice abruptly doused the anger. “The Stone is real. I gave it to them.” 

An odd feeling began to build as he turned to look at her, as he saw the Dwarrow standing with her, though they appeared to be as shocked as he was. “You.”

She had more spine than he’d credited her with, and met his eyes without a hint of weakness. “I took it as my fourteenth share.”

As if she had a share, as if any of the wealth of Erebor belonged to any but him, as if he would have let her take a single coin of his gold, let alone that which he treasured more than all else. But he had thought, she had led him to think, that the gold held no interest to her. Clearly, he should have remembered that she was a Burglar. And she should've remembered the punishment for traitors. “You would steal from me?”

Her eyebrows jerked up as her ears tilted down. “Steal from you, no. Do my best to save you?” A low breath left her, and the odd sensation built. “As I’ve always done, yes.” His feet carried him a step forward, almost without his will. “I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.”

“Against your claim?” When she had turned out to be the worst turncoat in the Mountain, when she had manipulated him into trusting her?

The words seemed to burst out of her, and she almost sounded sincere. “Thorin, I told you, I don’t care about the gold, I don’t care a whit about my claim!”

The lying traitor had no claim, not on his gold. He smirked, parroting her words. “Your claim.” But she had tried to manipulate him into more than just trust, hadn't she? She’d tried to seduce him, tried to take his Mountain, his crown. “You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!” The last word was a roar, and her ears angled sharply back as the warrior moved forward, as ready to tear her apart as he was, but the other Dwarf stopped almost as soon as he’d begun.

He was almost impressed with how quickly she could summon up tears, and control her voice to match the false expression. “I was going to give it to you. I wanted to, but—”

His temper again cooled, but the odd feeling was still building. “But what, thief?”

“You are changed, Thorin. The Dwarf I met in Bag-End would never have scared me like this.” He should have, if this was the result of such negligence. “Would never have gone back on his word.” As though word given to lesser beings mattered. “Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin, of his One!” 

 _Ze’ê_. He remembered, abruptly, how she’d looked that day, how tempting she’d been, and how obvious it was now that she’d manipulated him even then. “Do not speak to me of loyalty.” 

Not when she’d shown none whatsoever. Not when she’d proven to be of the same stock as that snake of a daughter, who’d been lucky to merely be banished. He should have ended her there and then, instead of letting her roam free, letting her line continue. Clearly exile was too lenient. 

“Throw her from the rampart!” She froze, even her ears now still, and the Dwarrow were similarly motionless. “Did you not heAR ME?!”

Grabbing the closest Dwarf, he hauled the blond closer, only for the younger Dwarf to break free and back away. His insolence would have to be dealt with, but there were more pressing concerns at the moment.

She was still unmoving, eyes wide, a frightened rabbit caught by a lion. As he looked at her, the odd feeling spread through him, accompanied by ice-cold rage. “I will do it myself!” She didn't move as he closed his hand around her throat, “Curse you!” she didn't move except to pry futilely at his grip as he lifted her out of reach of the Dwarrow, his supposed subjects, who tried to reach her, “Cursed be the wizard,” and she barely kicked as he suspended her above the ramparts, arm outstretched above him so that he had to crane his neck up to meet her eyes, as she wrapped her hands on his forearm so weakly that he barely felt it. “who forced you on this company!”

“If you don’t like my Burglar, then please, don’t damage her. Return her to me.” Tharkûn was unexpected, and equally unwelcome. But still, he would be a exasperating enemy. “You’re not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?” 

The name sounded strange. Did it belong to him anymore? He wasn't sure; the uncertainty loosened his grip, and the traitor fell. The youngest of the Dwarrow hauled her away, and he didn't stop them. Tharkûn was right, unfortunately. A King’s time was better spent than dealing out punishments himself. One of his subjects would undoubtably finish the thief off, now that they had seen the consequences of defying him.

But that was the last he would pay heed to any’s council but his own. It was tharkûn’s fault that the traitor had been in the Mountain to begin with, and therefore the wizard’s fault the Arkenstone had been lost. “Never again will I have dealings with wizards, or Shire rats!”

The other Man, the more openly greedy of the two, spoke impudently. “Are we resolved?The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised?”

As though any promise made by a traitor and a thief would be honored. Motion caught his eye; the thief in question was still alive, and on dry land, unfortunately. She was huddled on the ground, but kept her head up, looking between the two groups. Any action against her would likely bring the forces of both Man and weed-eater against them, and without Ironfoot’s army, it would be pointless. Where was he? He had sent a message before dawn that his troops were hours away. He went to the other side of the gate to see from a different angle. 

“Why should I buy back what is rightfully mine?” His voice shook, the still-unidentifiable feeling muddying his mind and resolve.

The mirk-lord’s voice was all too clear. “Keep the stone. Sell it. Turgon of Gondor will give you a good price for it.”

A blaze of fury sparked the words, “I will kill you!”

Anything more was lost as the traitor hoarsely bellowed, “Do any such thing, you waste of an Elf, and I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to your elk!” He fell still as she coughed harshly, _painfully?_ and tharkûn moved to her.

“You would show this loathsome oath-breaker loyalty after what he’s done?” If he was loathsome, the mirk-lord was a thousand times more abhorrent, oaths meant nothing if given under duress, especially to those beneath him, and the traitor knew nothing of loyalty. But the last thought didn't have the conviction it had a minute ago, especially as she glared venomously at the weed-eater, pushing away tharkûn.

“My loyalty is to Thorin Oakenshield, not to the King Under the Mountain.” Then her loyalty was to a dead man. _Was it?_

“Surely after he—” ‘After he’ what? Carried out the punishment of a traitor as was his right?

She cut off the Man with a snarl. “NO!” As she coughed again, he realized that her neck was already bruising, the entire length rapidly purpling in a dark, vivid, undeniable pattern; the odd feeling strengthened further. “That is NOT Thorin. I don’t know if it’s because of the gold, the Arkenstone, or that Mahal-cursed dragon, but my Voshel is gone, and you,” she yanked tharkûn’s robe roughly and glared at him when he met her glistening eyes, “are going to fix him. No excuses, no arriving too late, I don’t care what it’ll take, but fixhim!” _I tried to kill her and she’s defending me?_ Why would the gold or the Arkenstone have influenced him? He shook his head roughly, and looked again to the east.

“I’ve heard enough.” The weed-eaters, at their leaders prompting, drew their weapons.

Tharkûn stepped forward, and the _Burglar_ traitor moved to stay in view. “Thorin, lay down your arms. Open these doors. This treasure will be your death.” Where was Ironfoot?

The kidizbâha leaned in, and he turned to face him. “Thorin, we cannot win this fight.” Without Ironfoot, _Balin’s right_ the battle _why am I doing this_ would likely result in the deaths _of everyone I love_ of too few leaf-eaters, _of Bella_ and too many Dwarrow.

“Give us your answer.” The Men _have done nothing_ deserved none of his gold _or enmity_ , and as few as they were, _Bard’s a good man_ they were still _former allies_ an undeniable threat. “Will you have peace… or war?” _As I’ve always wanted for my people, I want p_ —

A raven dropped swiftly to perch before him, and he listened to its message eagerly. The east drew his eyes, and his answer came almost without his bidding it. “I will have war.” The sound of his army marching to them grew audible, and he smirked to think of the coming victory. 

The expression widened into a proud smile to see the Dwarven forces, and, while the mirk-lord rode to the front of the legion, the bargeman following suit, and the other Man fled to Dale with his tail between his legs, Ironfoot rode down to the leaf-eaters. “Ay! Thorin! Ironfoot has come!” Much of what Ironfoot said was too quiet for him to hear, until, “… just sodding off?!” The Men cringed back, though he could still see two figures, one grey, one _gold_ blonde, standing near Ironfoot. “All of you! Right now!”

The bargeman tried to calm his forces. “Stand fast!”

Tharkûn moved forward, though he couldn't hear most of what was said: “…th their blood!”

“Don’t you bloody dare!” _Bella!_ The _gold_ yellow speck moved closer, and the conversation quieted again.

“…ll split his pretty head open!” That was more like it. Ironfoot rode back up the hill, despite tharkûn’s calls, and his Dwarrow cheered. Ironfoot tossed back a response that he hadn't heard the impetus for. “You think I give a dead dog for your threats, you pointy-eared princess?! You hear that, lads! We’re on! Let’s give th…” Ironfoot’s voice faded as the Dwarf ascended, but the meaning was clear. War was coming, and he didn't even have to fight.

A commotion behind him caught his attention. He turned to see one of his former cousins, the eldest, holding the scribe back. “You can’t go down there, you’ll be killed in a blink!”

“So will Bella!” The odd feeling in his chest seemed to flex, almost, and threw him off-balance for a long moment. “She needs our help!” The Dwarrow seemed torn. The thief wasn’t helping either of the brothers, the miners looked more sour than usual, the healer and his brother were shaking their heads, and the four that had been closest to the _Lukhdel_ traitor were standing apart, faces like stone.

He stepped forward. “The traitor will receive no help from anyone here.” The scribe didn't stop fighting, but the miners’ expressions turned pathetically sorrowful. 

“Thorin,” Why did the kidizbâha insist on using that name? “She is a Hobbit. For all her skill and courage,” He snorted, even as the odd feeling again rippled through him, “she is smaller, weaker, more fragile than any of the other combatants. Perhaps leniency is in order?”

He narrowed his eyes. Was the old fool questioning his authority? He drew himself up. “I am King Under the Mountain, and I will be obeyed. The traitor is an enemy of Erebor, and will receive no aid.” As he looked around the Dwarrow, none of those he knew would be the most difficult met his eyes. “Did you not hear me?”

For several seconds, the only sound was that of the mirk-lord shouting to his archers. A familiar sound rapidly increased. _Twirly-whirlies_. The youngest two started to rush forward, and he shoved them back. “Uncle, th—”

“I AM YOUR KING!” The odd feeling was almost overwhelming for an instant as _the boys_ the young brothers looked at him, shocked at something. He ignored it. “And I will be obeyed.” The sound of another launch drew his attention back to the field, and the rest of the Dwarrow were watching alongside him before he could blink. The second volley plowed through the leaf-eaters easily, and he watched as they shifted to meet the Dwarrow riding toward them.

“She’ll be crushed.” The warrior was almost inaudible.

He sneered. “All of them will be.” The goat riders leapt over the leaf-eaters, and nearly all the Dwarrow on the gate began yelling for the traitor, _her family_ those closest to her loudest of all. He let them yell. They would be punished later, once all the o-Khazâd were dead. Rumbling cut through the tumult on the field, and the entire battle fell to a standstill as roaring began to accompany it. It was coming from the south-east, and everyone, including him, watched attentively. He couldn't move as a snake-thing burst from the ground, nor as four more joined it. The sight of them inspired an almost irrepressible urge to run and hide, but he stood his ground as they roared. The Lord of Silver Fountains would run from no one.

The creatures retreated as quickly as they’d appeared, and a horn sounded from Ravenhill. The sight of signal flags on his land stirred an even greater rage, but practicality quickly took its place as Orcs streamed out of the holes by the thousands. Ironfoot’s forces ran to meet them, and he relaxed. The Dwarrow would keep them from reaching Erebor with their lives. The ‘Uryad spoke, and he turned to the Dwarrow. “I’m going over the wall. Who’s coming with me?”

“Stand down.” There was nothing to be gained by watching the battle. 

He walked to the stairs while the ‘Uryad spoke again. “Are we to do nothing?”

“I said, stand down!”

“My sister is in danger.” The ‘Iryad. He turned to see the near-child glaring at him. “You would have us stand by and watch as she dies?”

Holding the ‘Iryad’s eyes, he stepped deliberately onto the top step. “No. I would have you guard the gates, unless you’d like to share the traitor’s fate?” One by one, he met all of their eyes, and made sure each and every one of them caught the threat in his words. Once they had all deflated, he turned away and continued his descent.

 

It wasn't long after that before the warrior stormed insolently up to the throne, addressing him with a casualness that _was born of a century of friendship_ would have to be eradicated one of these days. “Since when do we forsake our own people? Thorin,” he turned away while the warrior’s expression turned subtly pleading. “They’re dying out there.” _Bella, Daín, Bard, they’re_ Dying in service of their King, as was _not what I wanted_ only right. They were honoring Mahal by protecting him, protecting the gold. _She doesn't care about the gold._

A thought struck him. “There are halls beneath halls within this Mountain. Places we can fortify, shore up, make safe.” He stood; the warrior flinched almost imperceptibly back. “Yes. Yes, that is it.” Meeting the warrior’s eyes again, the odd feeling intensified, but he ignored it. “We must move the gold further underground— to safety!” He moved toward the treasury as he spoke, and the warrior followed.

“Did you not hear me?” He stopped. How dare a mere soldier raise his voice to his King. “Daín is surrounded. They’re being slaughtered, Thorin.” A wave seemed to pummel him where he stood, the oddness _my name_ nearly pushing him away.

“Many die in war. Life is cheap.” He’d seen it time and time again, and it still held true. “But a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost.” On the last words, his voice shook for no apparent reason, and he shoved the oddness down to gather himself. “It is worth all the blood we can spend.”

The warrior scoffed, and looked _morbidly_ amused at something. “You sit here in these vast halls with a crown upon your head, and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been.”

How could the King Under the Mountain be lesser than anyone? “Do not speak to me… as if I were some lowly Dwarf lord, as if I were still—” The oddness spread through him, clouding his mind, _Mahal, what am I now_ , choking him, _who am I but_ “Thorin Oakenshield.” NO! Again, he shoved back the weakness and drew his sword with a roar. “I AM YOUR KING!”

The strike nearly unbalanced him, and the warrior spoke while he was catching his breath. “You were always my King. You used to know that once.” The warrior’s quiet voice drew his eyes to the solemn _grieving_ face. “You cannot see what you have become.”

The oddness spread, his mind seeming to fragment until there was a cacophony that kept him from thinking properly. “Go.” The word was pitifully frail, but he couldn't seem to raise his voice. “Get out.” His voice was being choked again, shaking inexplicably with emotion he didn’t, couldn’t, feel. “Before I kill you.” 

The warrior again scoffed, but left after a moment’s hesitation. Once he was alone in the room, it seemed almost too big, suffocating in its emptiness, and he didn't allow himself the luxury of thought until he was somewhere less oppressive, though he barely had time to notice that the room was empty before his thoughts consumed him.

He would've betrayed me _none of them would ever_ but they did _no, they couldn't have_ — Why not? They’re all thieves and liars, _they’re kin, they wouldn’t_ — And what about the miners? They’re all greedy vermin, especially those from Ered Luin— _They’re as good as kin, after everything_ — They tried to steal from me _never_ disobeyed me _never before_ but they did now _they’re still at the gate, aren't they?_ Doesn’t mean anything _means they’re trustworthy_ means they haven't had time to act _means they won’t_ unlike the burglar _Bella._ She was a _is a_ traitor _she wouldn't do that_ she took the Arkenstone _she had a reason_ there is no reason _that I know of_ in existence _nO! She had a reason, she_ was a traitor and was punished accordingly.

… _She’s not dead_ she will be soon _she can’t be dead_ would already be dead if tharkûn hadn't interfered _she’s my One_ if the pestilence you claim as kin _what have I done_ hadn't protected her, hadn't kept me from killing her _she’s my Vashil_ when she was giving that speech to the mirk-lord _what have I done_ so obviously rehearsed _what have I done_ transparently false _what have I done I rejected my family I threatened my Company my best friend I tried to kill my Lukhdel for the love of gold for the lure of power for dragon-sickness Thrór was no better Thrór was better Thrór fell slowly Thrór took years to fall I have become my grandfather in less than a month I broke my promise I broke my family’s trust I don’t deserve Bella I deserve a traitor’s death my people are dying my cousin is dying the Orcs are winning I abandoned my race to filth such as Azog_ —

As he fell to his knees to empty his stomach onto the floor, Thorin ripped off his crown and hurled it to the other side of the room. It hit the wall with a clang, and he looked up once he was finished to see that the metal had caved in on one side, drastically enough that it would take weeks to repair, if at all. Thorin moved away from the pool of bile to sit with his back against the wall, letting tears fall freely as he stared at the symbol of his decline. “What have I done?” 

He remembered everything, every suspicion, every threat, every beat of Bella’s heart as it pounded against his grip, as she refused to. As he blinked away tears, he realized he was looking at her pack, that he’d somehow run to the one place in Erebor that held some piece of her. _It shouldn't surprise me that it’s the kitchen_.

But even that thought brought a stab of pain. She shouldn't have been sleeping in the kitchen, she should've been in the Queen’s quarters, or with her family, at least. _They hid her from me_. The revelation that would've sent him on a rampage a mere hour ago now brought only relief. _She’s still out there_. His relief was gone in an instant, replaced by dread. _Daín is out there, Bard is out there, and however much I loathe Thranduil, I will not sink to his level, I will not leave him to face a common enemy alone_. Resolve sank into his bones, and if it was nearly drowned in guilt and an overpowering need to defend what was left of his family, it only made his legs all the steadier as he stood.

 

The Company was sitting listlessly near the gates as he approached, all of them still wearing the armor they’d picked out earlier. Thorin had shed his on his way through Erebor; every time he caught a glimpse of now-dull gold, it made him sick to his stomach, and he couldn't afford to waste any more time. Kíli stood as Thorin neared them, and stalked toward him, ranting. “I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us!” His voice fell as Thorin grew close enough to make out the broken expression on his nephew’s face. “It is not in my blood, Thorin.”

Stopping just in front of his sister-son, Thorin looked him in the eyes. _When did he get so tall?_ “No. Because you are stronger than I, Kíli.” 

Unmitigated shock was in the archer’s eyes, and Thorin remembered that he hadn't called any of his Company _except Bella_ by their names in weeks. Pushing aside the memory of Bella’s bruise as best he could, Thorin glanced behind Kíli to see that the rest of the Company was listening, but focused again on his nephew, though he pitched his voice a little louder than was necessary. 

“I have no right to ask this of you, any of you. I have been weak. I have been everything I vowed never to become, and if I have not lost everything I hold dear, I will count myself blessed by Eru himself, for I deserve none of it. But will you follow me… one last time?” 

Kíli, eyes shining, took hold of Thorin’s collar and leaned forward to press his forehead against his Uncle’s, and Thorin thanked Mahal and Eru both for the gift. 

The rest of the Company brandished their weapons, and Fíli watched Thorin carefully as he asked, “What do you ask of us?”

Thorin met his heir’s gaze steadily. “To let me make amends.”

A beat of silence met his words, then Balin shook his head. “That, we will not do.” Thorin nodded, heart falling, but his old friend continued. “We will help you make amends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's my take on why Thorin's Gold-Sickness hit him so hard and so quickly. I do like the versions I've seen where it's because of one of the Dwarven Rings, but I'm not sure I've actually seen this anywhere, so I figured 'why not'. Sorry if the italics are a little confusing, but I'm not going to change them; the whole point is that they're confusing. Thorin is literally at war with himself, and that's the best way I could think to show it. And... 'throw her from the ramparts'? I've seen versions of that where Thorin never *really* meant to kill her, and I'm sorry, I just can't agree with that. Those walls are at least thirty feet high, and maybe (maybe) a Dwarf could walk away from a fall like that, but a human would be iffy, and a Hobbit absolutely wouldn't, with how much their relative fragility is brought up. Now, granted, this is 'Thorin', not Thorin, but still. He was absolutely trying to kill her.  
> And those of you who are really familiar with the movie may note that Thorin's 'big speech' is pretty much completely gone here. Yeah. That's intentional. That 'speech' just annoys me; he never apologizes for what he did, virtually his only concession is that he asks them to help rather than ordering them, and basically just acts like it never happened. The 'Durin's blood' lines especially annoy me, so those have been retrieved from the cutting room floor and tossed into a woodchipper.
> 
> Rukhsul: Orcish  
> Nan’ith: Sister (who's young)  
> Kaminzabdûna: Queen of the Earth (Yavanna)  
> Lukhdelê: (My) Light of all Lights  
> Ze’ê: (My) One  
> o-Khazâd: Non-Dwarf  
> Kidizbâha: Mmm, long explanation, but basically, Head Advisor and Official Right-Hand-Man  
> Tharkûn: Gandalf  
> 'Uryad: Greatest Heir  
> 'Iryad: Lesser Heir
> 
> (P.S., go read this: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613)  
> À bientôt!


	62. Nu'gashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *My boyfriend's back and you're gonna be in trouble.  
> (Hey, la-di-la, my boyfriend's back.)  
> When you see him comin', better cut out on the double.  
> (Hey, la-di-la, my boyfriend's back.)*

Dale was overrun. Everywhere she turned, there were more Orcs than Bella’d seen in years, all of them geared for war, all of them killing as many Men as they could, all of them as horrible as she remembered. She was in the midst of them, most of them overlooking her, _literally_ , surrounded by Orcs and she had nothing more than the clothes on her back and the weapons on her person. She had no choice but to attack the Orcs before they saw her, before they hurt anyone else, and at such close range, she couldn't use her bow, she had to use Sting, slashing and swiping and stabbing Orc after Orc until she was soaked in their blood and left a trail of corpses behind her. There were different types of Orcs here, as well; Gundabad, Mordor, Moria, and each one she killed was Azog, was Urbikh, was every Orc she’d ever dreamed of killing. 

It was cathartic beyond belief. 

She didn’t quite smile as she fought, but she felt lighter, stronger, than she had in weeks.

“ **Prepare for the final assault.** ” _And there’s Azog, right on cue. He better not die before I kill him, although then I can at least still mutilate his corpse a little, maybe spit on his pyre. Wait, Dwarrow like cremation. I’ll spit in his grave, then, or onto his bones while the birds pick him clean. Doesn't really matter as long as he’s being desecrated somehow or another._ The Orcs were either getting faster or she was beginning to tire, and she retreated to a somewhat clear area to catch her breath. “ **Attack… now!** ” The now-usual horns followed the faint bellow, but another, different set of horns followed those, from the opposite direction. _Wha— Who_ — 

Her breath hitched, and the world seemed to slow, the sounds of the battle fading. “Thorin.” 

There was a walkway above her, and from where she was, it looked tall enough for her to see the field. She found a staircase without difficulty, and raced up, heart pounding, just as a massive bell burst through the gates. The debris formed a bridge, and as minuscule figures charged out of the opening, she found herself laughing helplessly.

“Oh, you mad, mad Dwarf, what are you doing?” Even from Dale, she could see one speck, leading the way _of course_ , that was darker than the rest, more brilliant, more vivid, and she knew who it was without a shadow of a doubt. “He’s back.”

“My dear—” 

She hadn't noticed Gandalf coming up beside her, but she cut him off anyway. “No, Grey One, this isn't hope, this isn't wishful thinking, and I know I’m not dreaming.” The Dwarrow rallied behind Thorin, just as they had at Azanulbizar, and pushed back the Orcs as she watched. She was grinning, tears threatening to spill over. “My Voshel is back, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, and I really don’t care.” _But why does he look—_

“Any man who wants to give their last, follow me!” Whirling around at the familiar, though faint, voice, she scanned the streets, but Bard was nowhere in sight. The call to arms did, however, remind her of the more immediate threat as a fresh pack of Orcs swarmed through not far from where she and Gandalf stood.

“They’re heading to the main hall.” Gandalf sounded horrified, and looked more so, but she had no idea what he was talking about. She frowned up at him, and he closed his eyes for a moment before explaining. “The women and children are in the hall.”

“WHAT?!” _BAINSIGRIDTILDA_ “Why are they even here, why aren't they in Lake-Town?!” She felt nauseous, and couldn't stop imagining the faces she remembered from Lake-Town on the slaves she’d known when Azog held her.

The Wizard averted his eyes as he answered her. “Legolas and Tauriel advised the Master to evacuate somewhere more defensible in case the Orcs broke through their line. While he didn't listen, Bard did, and when the attacks grew more frequent, most of the town followed his example, including, eventually, the Master and his Guards. I sorely wish I had arrived earlier, but by the time I did, there was nothing to do but help select a few strongholds, the main hall among them.” _They’re sitting ducks, they have no idea what’s coming, they probably don't even have weapons_. Jaw clenched, she tightened her grip on Sting and moved toward the stairs again. “Where are you going?”

She stopped, and took a second to calm herself before turning to face the Grey One. “I’ve seen too many men fall to Orcs today. I have no intention of letting women and children do the same.”

 

Thorin cut down an Orc _one fewer slaver_ and caught a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye. “Daín!” As the two of them spoke, they both fought automatically, keeping most of their attention on the threats around them, as always.

“Thorin! Hold on, I’m coming!” It was only a few more seconds before they were relatively free of Orcs, enough to talk, at least. “Hey, cousin! What took you so long?” 

Thorin grinned. _I missed you, cousin._ Chuckling, he gave Daín a quick, one-armed hug, trying to remember the last time they’d seen each other. _What was that, forty years ago? Fifty? Oh, Mahal, Bella might not have even been born yet_. If Daín noticed the faintly nauseous look on Thorin’s face, he didn't mention it. “There’s too many of these buggers, Thorin.” His cousin turned back to face him, uncharacteristically solemn. “I hope you’ve got a plan.”

Movement past Daín drew Thorin’s eyes to Ravenhill, and he scowled. “Aye. We’re going to take out their leader.” _And I’m going to rip the Defiler into tiny pieces until he screams like Bella has too many times, and then I’m going to keep him screaming a while longer before he dies_. He pushed aside the memory of the ramparts. _Time enough for guilt after the filth is dealt with._

There was a riderless goat just ahead, and Thorin moved to mount it. “Azog.” _Yes, thank you, Daín, I know his name._

_…_

_I’ve gotten more sarcastic since the Ralenns started, haven't I?_  

The years since Thorin had last ridden a goat didn't seem to matter, and the beast responded to his directions well. He met Daín’s eyes, uncaring of how much of his hatred was on display. “I’m going to kill that piece of filth.”

Daín walked closer, and Thorin kept an eye on the battle behind his cousin, knowing that Daín was doing the same. “Thorin, you cannot do this. You’re our King.”

The image of Bella on the cliff, of Azog grinning while she screamed, came back to Thorin, and he felt that same icy rage sink into his bones, steadying him as he spoke. “He tortured my One. I don’t care if I’m King or a foot soldier; the Defiler will pay.”

Although he was visibly floored at Thorin’s words, Daín pulled himself together after a heartbeat to ask, “And how do you plan to fight your way, single-handed, to Ravenhill?” A shout drew both cousin’s eyes toward Erebor, and Thorin grinned as he saw his kin approach. The chariot stopped beside him, and his grin turned vicious as he saw that Bella’s entire family was coming with him. 

They nodded grimly at him, and he returned the gesture before prompting his goat to a gallop. “On! To Ravenhill!” The chariot was following, he knew that, but he didn't wait for them to come up beside him. He rose straight for the Orc army, Orcrist drawn, and found a good deal of satisfaction in imagining that some of those he struck down may have been Bella’s captors, years ago. A massive, armored troll, with blades attached to its arms, rushed him, and he dodged past it while making for the bridge to Ravenhill. The legions of Orcs seemed almost unending, but he fought through them, refusing to let himself tire of the repetitive motions. As he reached the bridge _at least there’s no Orcs_ , he saw three goats on the ice, and his heart skipped a beat before he saw Balin in the distance, holding off wargs by himself. He huffed out a laugh, glad his old friend was _relatively_ safe. _Bella’d never forgive me if her Adad got killed because of me, or her, for that matter_. Kíli glanced up, and Thorin called out, “Onward!”

Dwalin yelled in response, “Lead on!” The reprieve on the bridge turned out to be short-lived, and Thorin slew quite a few more Orcs as the road carried him closer and closer to Azog, his kin close behind him.

 

She wasn't really surprised when the Wizard fell in step behind her, though he fell behind after a few minutes; she was small enough, and quick, that the Orcs never saw her coming, and so she reached the square in front of the main hall not long after leaving Gandalf behind. As she did, the doors of the hall opened and armed women, wounded, and elderly poured out. It might have been heartening, if any of them had known how to actually fight instead of just waving swords around. _They’re brave, at least, but that won’t keep them alive_.

As the Orcs ran forward, the only thing she could think to do was to yell, “ **Leave them, they’re Azog’s!** ” Some of the Orcs, not all, but some slowed, looking for her, and the women were able to kill many of them while they were distracted. Bella threw herself into the fight, much as she had when the Company fought the Spiders, slashing and swiping and stabbing any Orcs who were occupied with someone else, and moving on before they even realized she was there.  Once there were few enough Orcs left that the women were able to handle them, Bella scanned the square for Bard’s children, and found them easily. “Are any of you hurt?” 

Tilda looked happy to see her, but was clearly terrified. Sigrid looked horrified at something, but Bain was the first to speak. “We’re fine—”

“Are you hurt?”

Bella followed Sigrid’s eyes to her torso and realized that she was stained almost completely black in Orc blood, only the mithril stubbornly refusing to discolor. She shook her head. “I’m fine, Sigrid, none of it’s mine.” She pulled her braid over her shoulder to see that it, too, was soaked, and she wrinkled her nose. “I’m going to need an unbelievably long bath when all this is over, but for now, I’m fine.”A faint voice prompted her to whirl around. _Was that_ — She spun back to the children. “I heard your father, he’s—“ As she led the way out of the courtyard, she wrinkled her nose again. “With Alfrid. Wonderful.” Her distaste for the Man notwithstanding, she followed the toad’s voice to a balcony, where Alfrid stood _in a dress?_ next to a dead Olog that Bard undoubtably killed.

“…rew it all away. For what?” They stopped just inside an archway as the Man puffed himself up, and Bard turned to his children. _I think that answers that question_. Bella could hear coins clinking as the crony moved around the Olog, and tilted her head with a frown.

Bard was looking at her strangely, but he schooled his expression as he turned back to the other Man. “Alfrid? Your slip is showing.” The toad took Bard’s comment with as little dignity as Bella’d expected, and climbed over the wall, out of sight.

“He’s doing that for gold?” With a huff, she shook her head. “I’m never going to understand Men.” A roar caught her attention from a few streets away, and she moved toward it while she ordered the children, “Listen to your father!” Bard said something, but she didn't catch his words. In a few seconds, she was running through a side street and into a nearly-empty courtyard: the only figures in it were Gandalf and an Olog/cave-troll hybrid, which was doing its level best to smash the Wizard into the ground. It would take her a moment to unsling her bow, and so she shouted while she did so, “ **Wrong! Retreat to handler, mongrel!** ” 

As she’d hoped, the familiar order slowed the troll down while it looked for the Orc who’d spoken, and she loosed two arrows into its gaping maw before it could blink. It choked, stumbling backward, and she put another arrow into its eye, moving towards it all the while. As she passed Gandalf, she slung her bow across her back again and drew Sting. The Olog was down, now, though it was still feebly pawing at its wounds. Sting was too short to decapitate it, but long enough to pierce its skull at the temple. _I’m sorry it wasn't painless_. 

The wargs and trolls were the Orcs’ slaves as much as she had been, and although she had a healthy amount of fear for the beasts, there was a certain amount of pity, as well. Most of them were tortured into obedience, and didn't have the intelligence to escape. Hybrids such as this were raised from birth to be cruel, vicious monsters. They didn't have a choice. She did. And she chose to put as many as she could, even if it were only the one, out of their misery. She turned around at a sudden shout, and saw Alfrid fall out of a net of some sort, his head hitting the ground with a crack that was audible even from that distance. Even while she winced, she shook her head. _So you live, so you die._ Gandalf rushed out of the courtyard, gesturing for her to follow him. On the outside, there were Men running around, much as everywhere else, but the chaos was slightly less pervasive than it had been. “We may yet survive this.” A flash of midnight-black motion grabbed her attention, and she ran to the wall while Gandalf cut down a stray Orc.

“Gandalf!” There were three other specks, but they were moving too quickly for her to identify. _What, by Mahal and Yavanna, is he riding?_ She couldn't hold back a grin as the Grey One joined her. “It’s Thorin!”

“And Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin. He’s taking his best warriors.” The grin that had widened at the mention of her Undâd and Irak’adad faded with the Wizard’s last words.

“To do what?” _They’re going up, toward the fla—… toward Azog_.

Gandalf sounded as cold as she’d ever heard him. “To cut the head off the snake.” 

Even as a feral, proud fire ignited in her gut, she couldn't help a twinge of foreboding. “They’re being completely unsubtle, as usual. Azog won’t be unprepared. He’ll be waiting for them.” _They can take care of themselves, they’ve been fighting for longer than you’ve been alive. But this is Azog._ She looked up at the Grey One and prayed to Eru and Yavanna that he was as wise as her parents had always said. “Gandalf, tell me they’ll beat him.”

He hesitated, and that was answer enough. She didn't have time to react, as hoofbeats neared them, and she turned to look for the source, the Wizard following her. A white horse burst through an archway, Legolas on its back. “Gandalf!”

“Legolas Greenleaf!” 

The Elvenprince dismounted to reveal “Tauriel!” All three Big Folk looked surprised at her outburst, but Legolas didn't slow.

“There is a second army.” _No_. “Bolg” _please, no_ “leads a force of Gundabad Orcs. They are almost upon us.” Bella had to hold back a hysterical laugh. _Of course Bolg is coming, and of bloody course they’re Gundabad Orcs, because what would Azog’s reinforcements bloody be, except the worst kind of bloody Orcs?!?_ Gandalf and Legolas were looking at her oddly, and she flushed as she realized she’d spoken aloud.

“Azog engages our forces, then Bolg sweeps in from the north.”

She rolled her eyes at the Wizard and spread her arms. “And where, exactly, is the bloody north?!”

The Grey One looked at her sorrowfully _pityingly?_ “Ravenhill.” He moved toward the hill they been watching before the Elves came, and Bella felt as though her heart stopped beating.

“Thorin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, when I had Balin and Dwalin adopt Bella, I wasn't even thinking about Ravenhill. Mostly, I was thinking about writing 'Uncle Dwalin'. *evil grin* Uncle Dwalin is fun. We're getting close to the end now.  
> À bientôt!  
> P.S., (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613). (^u^)  
> (*edit* This summary didn't show up at first, either. Oops.)


	63. Gemgashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...And Dwarrow in Ered Luin still abed shall thinks themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhood cheap whilst any speaks who fought with us at Ravenhill tower!"

It was empty. It had taken far too long to reach the battlements on Ravenhill, even with the goats, and now that Thorin and his kin arrived, it was empty. _Something’s not right. Azog wouldn't retreat so easily_. Kíli spoke up behind him. “Where is he?” The fortress across the river was still, the signal flags flapping in the breeze. “It looks empty. I think Azog has fled.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so.” _There’s something more here, something waiting. We need to know more_. He turned and stepped to his heir. “Fíli, take your brother. Scout out the towers. Keep low and out of sight. If you see something, report back. Do not engage, do you understand?”

“We have company.” Dwalin’s warning had all three Durins turning to look, and Thorin moved in front of the boys before he thought. “Goblin mercenaries. No more than a hundred.”

 _They need to go_. “We’ll take care of them. Go!” He half-turned to his nephews as they nodded. “And make sure you come back to your sister.” The younger two retreated, and Thorin fought with Dwalin, over a century of friendship making it as easy as breathing to predict what the warrior would do. _Come back to your sister, and come back to me. I can’t lose any more family_.

 

“Thorin.” The word was a breath, or maybe a prayer to Eru. Tauriel was still near the horse, and Bella moved toward her with a glare. “Get on the horse, you’re taking me up there.” All three of the Big Folk exclaimed at that, and Bella growled. “Kíli is on Ravenhill too, along with Fíli and Dwalin. Unless you want all four of them to die, you are going to take me up there to warn them.” Just as Thranduil had been earlier, Tauriel was the picture of internal conflict for a heartbeat. Then her expression firmed and she nodded briskly, lifting Bella to sit precariously in front of the saddle before mounting herself.

“Tauriel!”

Bella glared at the Prince. “Legolas! Think for yourself for a change, and stop emulating your father. If you want to improve relations between Erebor and the Greenwood, maybe start by saVING THE LIVES OF THE ROYAL FAMILY!” The blond actually looked cowed for a moment, but Gandalf stepped forward before Bella could relish the victory. She glared at him, too. “Almost my entire family is on that hill, Gandalf, I won’t let them die, not to Azog, not again.” She was at the Wizard’s eye level, for once, but he was too blurry for her to enjoy it.

He sighed, and she thought he turned to Tauriel. “If Thorin dies, so will Bella.”

“Not what’s important!” Bella snapped.

“And if Bella dies, so will Thorin.” The thought of Thorin dead made it impossible to keep the tears from falling, and she stared blindly at the horse’s mane. “Protect them both.” 

Tauriel wrapped an arm around Bella’s waist as she wheeled the horse around. “To the best of my ability.”

“Tauriel.” _Legolas, you might be my second- or third-favorite Elf at the moment, but if you try and keep either of us here, I swear_ — “I’ll follow as quickly as I can.”

Bella whirled around to face him, and might have fallen off if Tauriel hadn't been holding her. Her vision was mostly clear now, and so she saw Legolas’ shock for herself when she whispered, “Thank you.” Tauriel spurred the horse forward a moment later, and Bella leaned against the Big woman, wishing they could've been on a pony. They couldn't get up to full speed inside the city, and both women had to strike at Orcs that got too close, but they were out soon enough.

“You knew I would come for Kíli. How?” She hadn't expected the question, but it was simple enough to answer.

“You’re Kíli’s One. I assume it either goes both ways or you're not exactly indifferent to him.” The road was mostly clear of Orcs, so Bella felt secure enough to ask, “Do Elves have Ones? Or Pairs, or something along those lines?”

Tauriel huffed, clearly thinking something along the lines of ‘now? you want to do this now?’, but still answered. “We have Chosen. It can take a century for an Elf to Choose, but once we do, there’s no going back, even if we wish it. What are Pairs?”

Bella shrugged, eyes fixed on the top of the hill. “My mother and father. My cousins Drogo and Primula. Thorin and me.” It wasn't much of an answer, but it was enough for the moment, especially as a horde of Orcs came into view, the last of them swarming over the battlements.

“Goblins.”

Bella raised an eyebrow at the snarl, but didn't dispute the emotion. “Why do you call them that? They’re Orcs.”

“They’re Goblins. The armies down there are Orcs.”

Bella shook her head. “Down there, there are Gundabad, Mordor, and Moria Orcs, even a few Enedwaith clans, but those up there, those are mountain-Orcs. The ones from the Misty Mountains look a little different from the Grey Mountain ones, but they still look more like each other than the mine-, forest-, or plains-Orcs.”

“…I didn't realize there was such a variety.”

The Elleth sounded incredulous. Bella smiled to realize how little thinking of the Orcs upset her, compared to a few months ago. “They stick to their own clans, for the most part. If Azog weren’t so powerful, they never would've gathered like this.” A sudden ache made her shift in her seat before she remembered _Azog is up there_. The heat wasn't painful yet, but it was growing more and more uncomfortable with every stride up the hill. Leaning forward to avoid the Elf noticing, Bella stayed silent for the rest of the journey, clenching her teeth to keep from groaning. _Finally_ they reached “Thorin!”

He spun around, and how completely ‘himself’ he looked nearly sent Bella into grateful tears. “Bella!” His eyes flicked to Tauriel for an instant, but then he was looking at Bella again, and _oh, Yavanna, he’s looking at me, were his eyes always that blue?_

Shaking her head to clear it, she slid painfully off of the horse before Tauriel stopped it, and Thorin took hold of her arms to steady her. “Bolg is on his way with reinforcements, they’re coming though here, from the north.” She could feel his hands, his heat, through his gloves and all the layers she was wearing, and _please, Yavanna, Mahal, don’t let me be imagining that, because I don’t think I could take losing him again_.

His eyes widened, and he looked to the watchtower on the other side of the river while he _accidentally?_ pulled her a little closer. 

Dwalin hissed from beside them, “We were so close. That Orc scum is in there.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” They were just close enough that the scars were beginning to burn in earnest, and Bella rubbed at her chest as she spoke.

Thorin and Dwalin’s eyes shot to her, and Tauriel spoke from behind her, “What do you mean?”

Dwalin yanked Bella away from Thorin and practically shoved her at the Elleth. “Get her out of here, now!”

Ignoring Tauriel’s quickly-smothered exclamation, Bella glared at her uncle. “Do you think I didn't know he was here when I chose to come? Do you think I would have chosen any differently if I hadn’t? I’m not leaving here until you, Thorin, and—” _Thorin looked at the watchtower why did he do that where are Fíli and Kíli wh— no…_ “No.” Blood pounding in her ears, she took a deliberate step toward the tower and snarled when the pain increased an fraction. “No, he is  NOT taking any more of my family, not if I have a say in it.” Dwalin started to say something, and she whirled around, jabbing him in the chest. “I don’t care if I burn to a crisp, I don’t care if I have to rip his bloody throat out with my bare hands, that **foul, black-heart, soon-carrion** murderer is  dead, today!”

Thorin grabbed Dwalin’s arm. “Find Fíli and Kíli. Call them back.”

“Thorin, I should be going, I’m the Burglar!” He rounded on her, and her breath caught at how intense his eyes were. _And somehow, looming is back to being comforting. And weirdly attractive_. She swallowed. _Not the time, Bella, focus!_

Despite his obvious urgency, Thorin kept his voice low, gentle. “Do you really think you can get close enough to search for them?”

Pursing her lips, she stared at him for a few seconds, swaying toward him involuntarily before looking away. “No.”

He nodded to Dwalin. “Do it.”

“Thorin, are you sure about this?” Her Irak-adad sounded more unsure than she’d ever heard him, and she couldn't really blame him. _He’s not exactly the most stealthy of us, hence why Undâdê went over there in the first place, and hence why I volunteered. Even Ta_ —

“We’ll live to fight another day.” 

Bella darted forward to catch both Dwarrow’s arms. _Oh, good, I wasn't imagining it_. In comparison with Thorin, Dwalin felt no warmer than an Elf. “Send Tauriel.” Both of them looked at her like she’d suggested inviting Azog to a tea party, but Thorin looked appraisingly at the Elleth a moment later. “She’s the quietest here, besides me, and she’s been fighting longer than  any of us have been alive.”

Dwalin still didn't look happy, but Thorin met her eyes, held them, for several seconds, the same unspoken question as he’d had with Beorn. ‘Do you trust her?’ Bella nodded, and he looked back to Tauriel. “If you’re willing, I would appreciate the help.”

Bella rolled her eyes. “—Is his ‘I hate asking anyone for help’ way of saying ‘please, Tauriel, you’re our only hope’.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she copied him while the Elleth moved past them, weapons drawn. Once she was gone, Thorin relaxed slightly, and Bella raised both eyebrows, unimpressed. She started to cross her arms, but the motion rubbed the mithril against her waist, and the memory of him giving it to her, of looking at him through the links, brought a blush. She looked away, swallowing, and remembered how he’d been almost himself that night. “It wasn't your fault.”

“Wh—” A drumbeat coming from the tower cut him off, and Bella’s blush died as she paled, taking an involuntary step back.

Thorin moved in front of her, and she shook her head. _Snap out of it, you’re not a scared slave anymore_. She stepped to Thorin’s side, watching the lights pulse in time with the beats, and felt her heart match the rhythm as she’d learned to over the years. “Those are **show-drums**. He wants us to pay attention.”

“You’ve heard them before?” 

She didn't look at Dwalin as she answered. “When Azog was making an example of someone.” Saying she felt numb would've been a lie. She wasn't numb. She could feel her scars flare with every step Azog took, until he was in view, dragging “Fíli.” The word was torn out of her as Thorin rushed forward, Dwalin close behind him.

“ **This one dies first.** ” _Oh, no, he doesn’t_. She unslung her bow carefully, struggling to keep her hands from shaking. “ **Then the brother.** ” She placed an arrow on the string and drew it back, sighting the Orc as best she could. “ **Then you, Oakenshield.** ” _Inhale, exhale, release_. She lost sight of the arrow as it flew, and nocked another arrow without taking her eyes off of Azog. “ **You will di** —“ He stumbled back, grasping at his stump and roaring, and dropped Fíli. Her Undad didn't waste an instant, snatching a sword from one of the Orcs on the landing and killing two before Azog even pulled the arrow out.

Thorin whirled around just as she loosed another arrow. “You—”

“I was aiming for his head. It’s a miracle I didn't hit Fíli.” The blond somehow swung off the edge of the landing onto another level, and she ducked behind a rock as Azog roared again. “Where’d I hit him this time?”

Thorin was looking at her strangely, but he looked up and answered a moment later. “The other shoulder.”

“Drat it.” Thorin was still watching Azog. “Is he looking this way?”

 

“Why?” Bella didn't sound half as worried as Thorin thought she should've been, but that changed with her next words.

“If he knows it’s me, he can burn me from there.” Thorin scowled, and he had to take shelter behind the same rock as Bella before he tried to rush the Orcs or something equally stupid. _Although this might have been one of my more idiotic decisions_. The rock was large enough to hide both of them, but he was standing close enough to her that they were almost touching, and she was blushing to her ears, her eyes darkening— _Not the time!_ Thorin tore his eyes away from her and listened intently for any sign that the Orcs were approaching. _She said ‘it wasn’t my fault’, does that mean she forgave me? How could she have, I tried to kill her, her neck is still bruised, but she’s here, she came to warn me, she’s not running away from me or moving to a different hiding spot_ — _Focus!_

Slightly more composed now, he edged back to look past the rock, and saw his nephews fighting Orcs with the Elf-captain on the opposite shore. Blood thrumming for him to run to them, he forced himself to scan the tower for Azog, stiffening slightly when the Defiler was nowhere in sight. _I preferred it when I knew where the filth was_. Bella was leaning with her back to the stone, now, parallel to Thorin, still blushing, but her eyes were clear, and her ears were twitching as she listened.

“The second army is getting closer, but there’re more Orcs in the tower than we could see.” She met Thorin’s eyes for an instant before turning to face the rock as though she could see through it. “Undâd and Tauriel will need help.” She scowled, and Thorin let himself brush his knuckles over her cold _as usual_ cheek. 

Her eyes fluttered closed, and his voice was lower than he’d meant it to be when he spoke. “They know you’d be with them if you could.” _No time for that_. He wrenched himself away from her and turned completely around. “Dwalin!” The warrior crept closer, his eyes on the tower, and Thorin stepped out of their hiding spot in order to speak quietly to his friend. “I’m going across the river. The other army is almost here; I need you to stay with Bella.”

“Thorin, I can take care of myself!” He spun around, not expecting her to be so close, and had to loop an arm around her waist to keep her from falling back. _Mahal, you’re beautiful_. She was covered in blood, sword drawn, as fierce as he’d imagined she would look, and even more breathtaking. 

He closed his eyes against the sight of her and leaned down to press their foreheads together, and she shuddered against him as he spoke. “I’ve lost too many people I love to war. Don’t make me lose you, too. Not when I still have so much to make amends for.”

Her free hand threaded around his neck and kept him from pulling away, and _oh, Mahal, that feels good— No! War now, fun later_. “Not half as much as you think.” Her arm fell away and he opened his eyes as he straightened. She was glaring at him half-heartedly, eyes shining. “Don’t you dare make  me lose you when I just got you back.” She stepped back, further behind cover, and Thorin tried to memorize how it had felt to hold her, everywhere he’d touched her now overly-warm and constantly reminding him of her absence. “I’ll stay with Dwalin. Go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the mangled quote in the summary, but I love that speech. That is a fantastic speech, although overall I think I prefer Merchant of Venice to Henry V. (I'm so tempted to sneak a 'do we not bleed? shall we not revenge?' reference into one of my Merlin fics.)  
> Hopefully the reunion was almost as good as you were hoping, although sadly a battlefield isn't the best place for it. Also, with Thorin 'accidentally' pulling her closer, I think that might have been an unintentional 'Just That and Nothing More' reference? I wasn't trying to put one in, but sometimes stuff sneaks in when I'm not paying attention. Anyway, if any of you haven't read that (which seems doubtful, with that one's hit count), you should check it out, it's really good. (Also, Bilba/Kíli. ^u^) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/3360503/chapters/7350128)  
> Star Wars reference was completely intentional, by contrast, and The Last Jedi is AMAZING!!!!!! (Those of you who've seen it, you know the scene where Rey 'reaches out' to the Force? One of my top three parts in the entire movie.)  
> If you're not sure when Thorin imagined her covered in blood, it was in chapter 52, the end of Thorin's PoV.  
> 'That feels good' right near the end? Alice reference, very intentional. (The Syfy miniseries, when Alice and Hatter are about to escape the casino.)  
> (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613)  
> À bientôt!


	64. Ramekhgashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a Christmas gift for ya!

Thorin nodded briskly and rushed off after a final glance to Dwalin. Bella tried to keep from only listening to his movements, tried to keep an ear on the Orcs. She sighed, adjusting her grip on Sting. Dwalin came closer, though he stayed a foot or so away. “He knows you can handle yourself. He’s just worried.”

 _I know_. Teasingly, she flashed him a quick grin. “You sure?”

He laughed, not loudly, but more heartily than she’d heard since before they entered the Mountain. “Trust me, mamahnassasûna, he knows how well you can fight.” The way he waggled his eyebrows at her made her face heat, remembering how Thorin had looked at her a minute ago.

She whacked his arm as she hissed, “Shut up!” All he did was laugh harder. Thorin’s words came back to her, and she stiffened. _Wait, did he say he loved me?_ The scars burned as Azog moved around, wherever he was, and Bella barely held back a groan. Dwalin glanced at her, concerned, in between scanning their surroundings. “Stop worrying about me. I can still fight.”

He huffed. “I’ll make you a deal, lass. I’ll stop worrying about you when you stop worrying about me and the rest of your family.” 

A roar echoed across the ice and cut off Bella’s reply. “Azog.” The cries went from threatening to pained, and she smiled. “And he’s losing, or at least not winning yet.” Dwalin said something, but an odd shrieking pulled her attention to the other side of the battlements. _What— Those are wings!_ She ducked into a crouch just as bats almost as big as Beorn flew overhead, a few nearly hitting Dwalin. As soon as the bats were past, she stood, and glared at the mutilated Orc that climbed over the wall. _Bolg_. She only had half as much reason to loathe him as his father, but it was twice what she felt for any other Orc. 

He waved more Orcs forward, yelling, “ **Go! Kill them!** ” _Gundabad Orcs are definitely the ugliest_. The hordes rushed forward, and she and Dwalin fought, imperfectly, but effectively, as Bolg ordered _unnecessarily_ , “ **Slay them all!** ” As she fought, Bella realized Thorin was right to insist Dwalin stay. She’d never fought so many at once, and unlike before, all of them knew she was there. Half of them were coming specifically after her, and the terrain meant that she couldn't dodge out of the way when they were too close. For example, when she turned around just as Bolg rushed her, and the hilt of his axe connected solidly with the side of her head. As she fell, she just had time to see Dwalin, with a roar, decapitate both the Orc he was fighting and Bolg before the world faded into darkness.

 

 _Where are they?!_ Thorin’s nephews and the Elf had been here when he saw them earlier, but now the landing was empty. _Not quite!_ He dodged the Orc that he’d heard above him, and barely had time to recognize the Defiler before he was fighting. The filth had learned to use the blade on his arm well, but this time, Thorin had nearly a hundred and fifty years of experience under his belt, and the fight was far more even than it had been at Azanulbizar. Every time Azog moved, one or another of his scars caught the light, and each one sent a fresh wave of rage through Thorin, reminding him of the scars that Bella wore, that she’d never asked for. Orcrist connected with the Defiler’s side, and the Orc’s pained cry brought a feral grin to Thorin’s lips. The fight faded into a blur of motion and adrenaline, until finally, Azog fell, sliding down a set of stairs, but a fresh wave of Orcs came before Thorin could press the advantage.

The fresh troops didn't have the Defiler’s skill, but there were enough of them to push Thorin back into the tower. He lost track of his surroundings, and Azog managed to take him by surprise, striking him hard enough to send him flying onto the ice. “ **Go in for the kill!** ” Thorin, still sliding, cut down an Orc as it rushed him, and realized there was an entire legion running toward him. _Too many_. “ **Finish him!** ” _Forgive me, Lukhdelê_. 

The arrows that began to appear in the Orcs’ foreheads were a pleasant surprise to Thorin, as was the sight of Legolas standing on a tower nearby. Even as Thorin rejoined the fight, he grinned. _Right as always, Zabdûnaê; he_ _is_ _better than his father_. The Elf’s arrows stopped after a minute, but the Prince had given Thorin all the advantage he needed to take control of the battle. He’d defeated most of the Orcs by the time Legolas appeared on the ice himself, just in time to keep Thorin from being knocked over the edge, though Orcrist was already lost. The Elf swiftly dispatched the Orc that had struck Thorin, and offered him a hand up. With only a slight twinge of distaste, Thorin took it. “You’re quite the archer.”

Blinking rapidly, the Prince nevertheless shrugged. “I’ve had centuries to practice.” A growl caught both men’s attention, and Thorin stifled a cuss as an apparent Orc/troll half-breed approached. It was huge, even next to the Elf, but slow, and didn't even manage to get a solid hit in before the Prince cut it down. Thorin scanned the river. For the most part, it was empty, the sounds of battle muted and distant, but Azog stood in the middle of the ice, and Thorin scowled.

“The filth is mine. Tauriel is with my nephews somewhere in the watchtower. Protect them.” 

Legolas hesitated, then held his sword out, hilt-first, to Thorin. He shrugged again at Thorin’s shock. “I have other weapons.” _And I don’t_.

He took the sword gingerly, the grip just slightly too big, but it was well balanced and razor-sharp. He nodded. “My thanks. Go.” As the Elf ran into the tower, Thorin took stock of the injuries he hadn't had time to feel before. _Cut on my face, wrenched left shoulder, at least one cracked rib. Nothing crippling. It’s time to end this, and end him_. A horn sounded in the distance, but Thorin ignored it, ignored Azog’s smirk, ignored everything but the need to make the Defiler bleed. 

Azog ran forward with a roar, swinging a crude mace at Thorin. It was almost too easy to dodge, and Thorin waited for just the right opportunity to duck behind the Orc and slash at his back. The strike was useless, and his blade glanced off of the armor Thorin hadn't noticed until then. Azog advanced, swinging the mace again and again, the ice cracking with every attempted blow, until they were standing on a free-floating segment. It rocked underneath Thorin every time he or Azog moved, and the water sloshing over the edges made it even harder for him to find his footing. He slipped, one foot plunging into the frigid river, and had no sooner turned back to the Defiler before his legs were swept out from under him. He landed on his back with a thud, the air knocked from his chest, and had to roll away from the mace, and rolled again and again, until he finally had time to stand and rush at the Orc, sword ready. 

He felt the blade slice through the Defiler’s side, and smiled tightly. _That was for my Grandfather. The next is for Bella_. Azog again swung the mace, but this time it lodged solidly in the ice, and Thorin ducked as the Orc swiped at him with his blade. The Defiler stilled a moment later, and Thorin readied himself to strike again, but the Eagles flying overhead distracted him somewhat. As they screeched, an idea struck him, and he tossed Legolas’ sword behind him, then picked up Azog’s mace and tossed it at him. It evidently took the Defiler off guard, because all he did was look at Thorin before Thorin jumped back, off the ice, and the Orc slid under the ice, roaring defiance. A pained, familiar cry yanked Thorin’s attention away from the Defiler, and his heart nearly stopped. “Bella!”

 

 _I know that noise_. The light hurt Bella’s eyes, but she forced them open anyway, but didn't understand what the brown, flapping things above her were. Along with recognition, the pain in her scars rushed back with a vengeance, and she couldn't hold back a half-shriek. Shoving the pain down, she struggled to her feet, and had to hold onto the wall as the ground beneath her swayed and rocked. Dwalin had been there before, she was sure, but now he was nowhere in sight. A faint, Khuzdûl cuss echoed over to her, and she realized he was just a little ways away. Someone called her name, _I know that voice_ , and she pushed off the wall to stumble toward him, falling to her knees as her scars burned even more. That person, _I know him, he’s important_ , shouted in agony, and she forced herself to her feet, ignoring the pain as she searched for him.

 _Thorin!_ He was on the ice, and Azog was standing over him, and they were fighting. _No_. She drew her bow, but couldn't keep her hands steady enough to aim. With a growl, she scrambled down the stairs, and advanced toward her former holder as best she could. “You took my parents.” 

Her feet were going numb, but her arms were growing steadier. 

“You took years from me.” 

Azog stabbed down at Thorin, and her Voshel blocked the strike; she blinked away the fog. 

“You won’t take Thorin.” 

She loosed an arrow, and nocked another. 

“You won't take my brothers.” 

The arrow struck him in the neck, and he staggered back, roaring. She loosed her second arrow as Thorin stood. 

“You won’t take my Adad or my Uncle.” 

There were two Azogs, now, each one pulling an arrow from his leg, and she shook her head as she nocked another arrow and swiftly loosed it. 

“You won’t take my friends.” 

Thorin struck at Azog, distracting him, and she stopped, smoke rising from her jacket and making her eyes burn. Azog’s stump jerked as a thin blur hit it, and she carefully, deliberately, drew her _last_ arrow as far back as she could, ignoring how her scars screamed at her to stop. 

“And you will never take me again.” This time, she just stood and watched her arrow fly, and blinked as it planted itself in Azog’s eye. 

He fell slowly, and the light dimmed as she let the oddly-heavy bow slip out of her hand. The sky moved above her, and then she was lying on the ice, the cold seeping through her clothes. _There’s no heat anymore. That’s nice_. The pain faded as she watched the clouds, but when something lifted her up, the pressure against her back made her cry out. There was a voice, now, that she knew, and she opened her eyes _when did I close them?_ to see Thorin upside-down above her, mouth moving, expression anguished. “…ry, Bella, Lukhdelê, I’m so sorry.”

She smiled. “You’re warm.” Gentle heat, not like the burning from before, was seeping into her back, her shoulders, her head, and her hand where he was holding it to his heart, replacing the numbness. He looked sad again, and she tugged her hand out of his to pat his cheek. “You said you love me, before. Never got to tell you, I love you too.” Tears spilled into his beard, and she wiped at them clumsily, vaguely annoyed at how her hand wasn't cooperating like she wanted it to. “No crying. Hey, Thorin.” This would definitely cheer him up. “I killed Azog.” He said something, but it was just noises. She didn’t mind, though. _I like his voice_. A shadow passed over them, and it was easier to let her eyes shut than keep them open against the light. “Gonna sleep, now.” Voices surrounded her, but she just let them wash over her and slipped away to relish the warmth.

 

Azog fell, fletching sticking out of his eye, and Thorin moved the corpse just enough to see that the arrowhead was protruding from the back of his skull. A clatter behind him had him reaching for the sheath at his side as he spun, forgetting that Orcrist had gone over the side of a cliff. _Bella_. The color was draining out of her face, and she fell backward before Thorin could react. Her eyes were still open, but unfocused as Thorin kneeled behind her; he lifted her as gently as he could, _she’s as cold as at the river_ , and she gave an agonized groan. Afraid to pick her up as her eyes shut, he settled her on his legs, apologizing as he did, and took hold of her hand. 

He pressed it to his heart as she opened her eyes again and smiled. “Y’re warm.” She was slurring, and he realized there was fresh blood on her head, just beginning to soak through the dried black crust in her hair. Her hand twitched weakly in his, and he let go of it, thinking  she was uncomfortable. Instead, she raised it, shaking, to his cheek, in a heart-wrenching parody of his gesture before he left her with Dwalin. “Y’ said y’ lov’ me, b’fore.” He hadn't known whether she would catch that. _I should've known she would_. “Nev’r go’ t’ tell y’, lov’ y’too.” Her face blurred below him, and he wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry or scream anguish to the Valar. _Don’t take her,_ _please_ _. I’d see her alive and apathetic to me a thousand times before knowing she loves me and losing her_. She wiped clumsily at his tears, frowning vaguely. “No cryin’.” He fought to keep back a broken laugh, sure that it would only become a sob, and caught her hand in his again. “Hey, Th’r’n.” Even blood-soaked and half-conscious, she still looked absurdly sweet as she smiled, and hopeful to boot. “Kill’d ‘Zog.” 

That did wrench a laugh from him, and he smiled back at her, doing his best to stem his tears. “I know you did, Lukhdelê. It was a masterful shot, and you’ve earned Kíli’s bead, without a doubt. Just tell him that yourself, Bella. Please, Ze’ê, just tell him yourself.” The thin red stream at her temple was staining her hair, but he was terrified to touch the wound, terrified to make things worse. 

A shadow fell over them, and Dwalin thudded to his knees next to Thorin; Bella’s eyes closed. “Thorin—” 

Bella’s slurred murmur cut Dwalin off. “Gun’ sl’p, n’w.” Both Dwarrow shouted, and Thorin had no idea what he was saying. He was pleading with her, he knew that, and had no doubt that Dwalin was doing the same, but the words were lost in the blood roaring in his ears and the constant, frantic prayers in his head. A hand on his arm broke him out of it, but it still took him a moment to follow Dwalin’s eyes to the group running to them from the tower.

“BELLA!” Fíli and Kíli crouched next to him, but all of Thorin’s attention was on the Elves.

Despite the horror in their expressions, they shooed away the Dwarrow on either side of Thorin professionally, taking their places and examining her. Tauriel looked up while Legolas gently turned Bella’s head to the side. “Did any of you witness her injury?”

Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli could only shake their heads, but Dwalin choked out, “Bolg clocked her a few minutes ago, knocked her right out, but that’s the only wound I saw her get since you went to the boys.”

“And where is Bolg?” Fíli’s tone promised vengeance.

Dwalin’s tone was one of vicious satisfaction.“Dead.” Both boys growled out pleasure at the news and anger at not seeing it for themselves, but Thorin couldn't speak past the lump in his throat. Bella was as vivid as always, but everything else was dimming, and he had to brace himself on the ice to keep from falling over. _What_ — Tauriel’s eyes widened, and her mouth moved, but he couldn't hear her. Dwalin moved behind him, and Thorin had no choice but to slump against his friend as everything faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!  
> So, whadja think? Was it good? Was that a good cliffhanger? Was that a cliffhanger at all? (I honestly can't tell. Although I guess it would be more of a cliffhanger in any case if the chapter count wasn't at the top of the screen.) And yeah, that scene with Bella and Azog was like 90% of why I made her an archer. Also, I have two awesome new betas who've been helping with my other fics, but were kind enough to also help me finish this up! Therefore, thanks for the chapter go to Mabmon, Nimacu, and Texaspeach!  
> (Mamahnassasûna = She who continues to rescue) (Sorry to those of you who have difficulty reading her sleepy-talk, but her dialogue is exactly the same from her PoV and his, so I'm not going to post a translation here.)  
> (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613)  
> Ta 'til Wednesday!  
> À bientôt!
> 
>  
> 
> (P.S., paragraphs when Bella takes down Azog, yea or nay? It was originally one big paragraph, but I thought this might be better.)


	65. Gamekgashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Big squishy cuddles, special day, very special day, love, love, love, love; bit of a theme, you get the general gist. People are basically fond."

The first thing Bella became conscious of was the warmth. She hadn't been cold before, but she wasn't sure she’d been numb, either. But regardless, the warmth crept slowly into her awareness, followed by light, though her eyes were closed. As she tried to turn away from the light with a groan, she realized that she was lying half on top of something firm, moving, and familiar. Her left arm was stretched across it, someone holding her hand on the other side, his fingers intertwined with hers, and her other hand was gripping something that wrapped around her waist. Slowly, she forced her eyes open, and raised her head as she tried to focus on the dark shape in front of her. Gradually, it resolved into Thorin, who looked at least as bleary as she felt. She smiled at him, and flexed her fingers in his. 

“Hello.” She might have been tempted to wonder if this was a dream, but she never would have been able to imagine the Zhauthiet this well; her legs and side weren't touching him, and felt as though they were floating in midair, for all that she felt the mattress. His breathing changed slightly, chest rising and falling under her, and his free hand moved from around her waist to brush her hair back from her temple. The skin there was sensitive, and she shivered at his feather-light touch. His hand stilled, his eyes darkening, and things might have gone in a very different direction if she hadn't suddenly remembered the river. Sitting up as much as she could without taking her hand out of his, she used the other to yank down her shirt _when did I put this on?_ enough to see the scars on her chest, and all her breath left her.

The words there were still visible, but they were a faded pink rather than the angry red they’d been since she first received them. She brushed her thumb over them and stifled what was either a laugh or a sob as the pressure didn't bring the slightest amount of pain. She turned back to Thorin, and knew that she had tears in her eyes as she grinned, but couldn't bring herself to care. “They’re just scars.” As she thought over what had happened on the river, her eyes widened. “I killed Azog.”

He chuckled, and a wave of heat followed the low sound as it rumbled through her. “I saw.” Her hand fell to his chest, and his gaze intensified. Softly, his hand cradled her jaw and drew her closer, his eyes falling to her lips just before hers did the same.

“Finally awake, are you?” Thorin’s expression changed to exasperation, and she pressed her face into his chest to muffle her laughter. She didn't think it worked, but Oin didn't seem to notice, so she decided it was good enough. “Kept us all waiting long enough.”

“How long?” She bit her lip as Thorin spoke. _Oin is in the room. No snogging yet_.

“Four weeks and a few days.”

Her head snapped up, and she and Thorin spoke simultaneously. “Weeks?!?”

Oin just nodded and moved around the bed to examine her head. “Weren’t sure if you’d wake up at all for the first week, but after that it was just a matter of time.” As he tilted her head this way and that, Bella took the opportunity to look at more of the room than just Thorin. All the walls were stone, but it was surprisingly cheerful. The potted plants scattered through the room may have influenced her judgement. It was larger than was necessary for just the two of them, and a few empty beds were arranged evenly around the room. When she realized there were two Dwarrow near the door, Bella flushed and thanked Yavanna for Oin’s timely interruption. Oin released her and nodded to the Dwarrow briskly. “Let them in.” _Let who in?_

One Dwarf, with auburn hair to the other’s brunet, obeyed, but he _she?_ barely even turned the doorknob before half the Company burst in. Kíli, Dwalin, Kítos, Nori, Bofur, and Bifur swarmed around the bed as Oin retreated, and Bella couldn't get a word in edgewise for several minutes as each and every one of them insisted on hugging her, then bowing to Thorin, then clapping him on the shoulder, then usually starting over, chattering away the whole while. After greeting Thorin and helping him sit up against the headboard, Kíli and Dwalin helped her sit against him, then barely left her side. Thorin’s arm around her waist anchored her at his side, and Bella had no intention of letting go of him anytime soon, _or of letting him let go of me_. Most of the chatter was about how annoying the Iron Hills Dwarrow were, or how much Fíli and Balin wished they didn't have a Mountain to run. Bella let it all wash over her, grinning, until she saw the bead in Kítos’ hair, in a braid that the Dwarrowdam had told her was specifically for courting.

Bella’s resulting squeal silenced all the men in the group, while Kítos just blushed and grinned, fingering the braid. “When’d you tell him?!? No,” Bella shook her head. “Never mind that, when’d you tell her?!” Dwalin flushed, smiling shyly, as Thorin choked.

“Her?!?”

Bella ignored him and waved for one of them to answer. Kítos took Dwalin’s hand over the bed, looking at him with stars in her eyes. “He touched my hand by accident while we were all visiting you two a fortnight ago, and, well…”

“Her?!”

Bella rolled her eyes as she looked up at Thorin, grinning good-naturedly. “Oh, because they weren't completely obvious?” Dwalin scoffed, and she sighed dramatically. “Alright, so I didn't figure out who she was to you until after I found out she was a she, but that doesn't mean you weren't obvious, it just means I didn't have the information I needed for a while. So when’s the wedding?” 

Kítos bit back a laugh while Dwalin coughed uncomfortably. “Not for a while yet.”

Glancing at her One, Kítos leaned in to mock-whisper to Bella, “He hasn’t finished my courting gift. I keep telling him I don’t care if it’s perfect, but—”

“It has to be if I want Dori’s approval!” The desperation in Dwalin’s voice reminded Bella of Drogo when he begged her for a special recipe to make for Prim, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She caught Kítos’ eye, and then they were both laughing, along with Bofur, while the men just looked confused.

Gradually, the three of them wound down to faint chuckles, and Bella sighed happily, snuggling against Thorin. “Why are men so ridiculous?”

Bofur shook his head. “I’ve been trying to figure that out for the last hundred and sixty years.” _Wait, what?_ Bella blinked at hi— _HER?!?_ Again, she turned her face against Thorin’s side, trying to muffle the peals of laughter, but from the way Kíli, Kítos, and Bofur were laughing, it was even less effective this time. 

Thorin was spluttering, and, in between cackles, Bella managed to choke out, “Swear I didn't know that one, I promise.”

Bifur chuckled. “Trust me, no one did.” _WHAT!?!?_ Her brain screeched to a halt. Bella realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it with a snap. 

“Thorin,” she tugged faintly on the braid closest to her. “I could've sworn we were speaking Westron, weren't we?” Bifur just smiled at her and tapped his head. _What is he— WHERE’S THE AXE?!?_ “When did  that happen?!”

While he chuckled, Bofur grinned. “During the Battle. For some reason, he thought it would be a good idea to headbutt an Orc.”

“He was about to kill you!”

At Bifur’s protest, Bofur just raised an eyebrow at him. “You had a weapon in your hand, Nadad.” Covering his eyes, Thorin dissolved into helpless laughter, and Bella had to look away from his _breathtaking_ smile before she did something rash.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Oin swatted at Kíli until he moved, then gave the others the same treatment. “You can visit again later, after they've eaten. Now shoo!” At the mention of food, Bella’s stomach growled deafeningly, and the Dwarrow laughed at her blush. The brunet Dwarf pushed a food-laden cart into the room, and the Company shuffled out as both the brunet and the auburn-haired Dwarrow plated up a virtual buffet. Oin swiftly assembled a flat faux-[table](http://ifworlddesignguide.com/entry/197004-bed-care-table/) that slotted into the bed and looped over Bella and Thorin’s laps, and the other Dwarrow covered it with dishes before leaving the room and closing the door behind them. Oin sat on the other side of the room and snorted when Bella raised an eyebrow at him. “You actually think I’m leaving you two unchaperoned now that you're awake? You should be grateful I’m here rather than someone who can hear you.”

 

Bella ducked her head against him, but Thorin just nodded at Oin and took a plate. With the way he’d woken up, with Bella against him, with every one of her curves discernible through the thin tunics they were wearing, so tantalizing, _so lovely, so enticing_ … If they were alone, he didn't think he’d be able to keep from kissing her, _pressing into her, making her tremble again, ripping off that fabric so I can_ _see_ _all the soft skin I can feel rubbing against me_. There was a glass of ice-cold water on the table, and he took a swig, wishing he could take a snow-bath or something similar. He focused on his food for several minutes, wordlessly handing Bella any plates she motioned to that were out of her reach.

But eventually, his thoughts slowed, and he sorted through the clouded memories of his gold-sickness. Much of it was a blur of greed and suspicion, but the fog cleared somewhat whenever Bella was near; so while he could only vaguely remember snapping at his nephews when they jokingly modeled a few crowns, he remembered threatening her, giving her the mithril, and, most of all, choking her all too vividly. His appetite disappeared as he thought, and after she finished an entire plate while he sat still, Bella turned to him. He looked at her, saw the concern in her eyes, and although he ached to touch her, even just to stroke his fingers across her cheek, he couldn't bear to. Heavily, he sighed. “How can you stand me? I wronged you more than anyone else in the Company.” 

Her eyes widened, then narrowed into a glare. “Is this about Erebor?” _What else?!_ He started to answer, but she pinched his mouth shut with one hand. “Do you remember what you saw? What I looked like?” He winced, but she just raised her brows imperiously. Sighing again, he nodded. “Did I look like this, or was I faded out?” 

 _That’s… specific. But compared to the gold…_ He nodded again, and her glare lightened into a fond smile. “You were faded, too. I didn't understand at the time, but…” She shook her head, eyes wondering, and released his mouth to stroke her fingertips through his beard; he shuddered. _That’s not helping_. 

Her fingers moved to his chin, and she took hold of it and tilted his head to look more directly at her, eyes calm and clear. “That wasn't you.” He tried to protest, but she spoke over him. “I’m your One, Thorin, and more importantly, I’m your Vashil, so if anyone is in a position to know whether or not that was you, it’s me, and that. was. not. you.” Tears gathered in her eyes, but she still smiled. “I spent the better part of a month knowing every time I looked at you, somehow that I couldn't describe or explain, that you weren't there. That I was looking at a stranger, that it was Smaug that called me a thief, that it was Thrór that called me a traitor, that you were gone.” 

Sniffling, she shook her head, somehow still not letting any tears fall, and huffed. “And then you came charging out of Erebor, and I saw you from Dale.” The last words were an awed breath, and wonder filled her eyes again as she toyed absently with a strand of his hair. “You were a tiny little speck in the distance and I knew it was you. And then I got to Ravenhill and you were you, and right now,” She chuckled, “I’m trying to remember what you looked like when we met and it doesn't make sense, because you haven't changed at all, but I could swear that your eyes have gotten bluer, that your hair’s gotten darker, and it doesn't make any sense whatsoever!” Thorin could only stare at her, his mind looping ‘OneOneOneOneOneOneOne’, and she frowned at him, concerned again. “Thorin?”

“I’m your One.” The words were barely audible, and Thorin realized he’d stopped breathing at some point. Inhaling shakily, he realized he was laughing, relief flooding through him, and wished he could kiss her, wished they weren't in a sickbed so that he could pick her up and spin her around, make her laugh as much as he was. 

“Well, obviously—” Her confused frown morphed into shock. “Wait, you knew I’m yours?!?” His laughter turned sheepish, and she flicked him on the arm. “Why didn't you say anything, you jerk? More importantly, when did you figure it out?!?”

“The Misty Mountains.”

She stilled, looking at him, and her hand flexed where it rested on his chest, making it impossible to ignore now that he remembered it was there. “You kept me from falling.”

Reaching up to weave his fingers through hers, he raised her palm to press it to his mouth. “That was the first time I’d actually touched you.”

“Durin’s line.” Her voice was breathless, and she shook her head sharply, blushing. “But then, you—”

“I was cruel.” Closing his eyes, he leaned down to press her knuckles to his forehead. “As soon as I touched you, the world changed. I knew that you were my One, but you didn't react at all, and so I knew you didn't see what I did. You were my One, but I wasn't yours,” he chuckled weakly, “or so I thought. I was devastated, and angry, and I lashed out.” He opened his eyes and met hers steadily, feeling his heart wrench at the compassion there. “I should never have said what I did. I’m sorry.”

Smiling, she huffed again. “I forgave you for that months ago, you idiot, but why didn't you tell me?”

“I have no idea.” Laughter bubbled out of him again, and seemed to be contagious as she joined him, her other hand carding through the hair at his temple. “I was convinced that you didn't love me, could never love someone like me, but according to half the Company, we were both painfully obvious.”

Her hand had stilled halfway through his sentence, and he wished he could take the words back, just to put her smile back. “‘Someone like you’?” 

There was pain in her eyes, old and faint, but present nonetheless, and he pressed the hand he was holding to his heart again. “Someone old, and bitter, and hateful. And blind, obviously. Someone like me.”

Her expression lightened somewhat as she snorted, but the pain didn't fade. “If that’s you, what would that make me?” He stared at her, and she pulled her hands away with a strained smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Seeing as how you’re a King and all.”

“Bella.” His tongue seemed disinclined to cooperate, the words refusing to leave his mouth, so instead he gently took hold of her jaw as she had a minute before and drew her closer in order to press their foreheads together. His eyes closed of their own accord, and he heard her exhale shakily after a moment, looping her arms around his neck. He swallowed thickly, and searched for the right words. 

“Bella, from the day I met you, you have been the bravest, kindest, and one of the wisest people I know. I’d say you were the wisest, but that wouldn't be fair to your Adad.” She chuckled softly, and the words came a little easier. “I’m a blind fool. I didn't want to admit how drawn to you I was, and believe me, I was, even before the Trolls.” She jerked back and he let his hand fall away from her, but he didn't open his eyes, and she gingerly resumed the embrace as he continued speaking. “You are the most mystifyingly good person, Man, Dwarf, Elf, or Hobbit, that I’ve ever known, and you…” He opened his eyes, smiling, and rested his knuckles against her jaw, brushing his thumb across the blush that tinted her cheekbone. 

“You are my light of all lights, my Lukhdel. I feel as though my life before I met you was nothing but darkness, and then you danced in to light my way, and to bring that light to my Company, my people.” His hand slowed, and his blood seemed to be moving a little faster as her eyes fluttered open and he stared into the coppery depths. “I first thought of you as Queenly when you saved us from the Trolls. I have wanted to have you as my Queen since the day after your brothers adopted you, and I haven't stopped since.” Her blush was spreading, both down her neck and up to the tips of her ears, and he forced himself not to let his hand drift in either direction. “You are the only person outside my kin I would ever trust with my throne, with my people. I know that Hobbits have no use for gold, or for power, so I will not ask you if you would think of accepting a King’s suit. Instead, I ask that you consider an offer of marriage from a blind, hotheaded idiot, and all that it entails. If you were any other Hobbit, or I any other Dwarf, I would say that I would give up my throne if you wished it, but I can’t. I know you, and I know that you would only call me a ridiculous fool if I offered such, and I know that you will be the best Queen that my people have ever known.”

She was flushed, breathing unsteadily, and her eyes were filled with tears. “You’re wrong.” Her tone was one of complete and utter certainty, and his smile faltered. “I wouldn't call you a ridiculous fool, I’d call you a melodramatic moron. Or possibly Broodyface McMajestic, since that’s what I call you in my head when you’re being especially ridiculous.” Her eyes were twinkling, now, her smile impish, and he was leaning down before he knew what he was doing. 

A knife flashed past his nose and impaled the headboard between them. “None of that, now!” _Oin_. While Thorin gave the healer the blackest glare he could manage, Bella scooted away from him, ruby-red, and resumed her meal. 

 

It wasn't until the Pair of them had finished their meal and cooled off that Bella spoke again. “I feel a bit foolish, sitting here when you made me a grand, majestic declaration and I haven't done anything of the sort.” He tried to interrupt, but she cut him off. “What I said before doesn't count. That was me describing why I forgave you, not what you are to me.” 

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him, bumping against the table as she did, and it slid back an inch or so. _Well, that makes things easier_. Easily, she pushed it to the foot of the bed and knelt next to his knees, facing him. Oin cleared his throat behind her, and raised an eyebrow at her when she looked over her shoulder at him. Meeting Thorin’s eyes again, she rolled hers, then wrinkled her nose at him, but moved further up the bed so that she was nearly perpendicular to Oin; Thorin, smiling at her in a way that brought the word ‘adoring’ to mind, shifted to the edge of the bed so that it was a little easier for her to look at him. She glanced at Oin, one eyebrow raised, and, when he grunted, she gave Thorin a conspiratorial half-smile before taking a deep breath.

Staring at him, all the words she’d planned out so carefully fled. “You’re insane.” He huffed, but he was still smiling, and knowing she was the reason for the expression filled her with a glowing warmth. “You’re completely ridiculous, you were right about that much, and I know for a fact that you were as bad as your nephews when you were young, if not worse. And I love you.” His smile faltered, then returned even wider than before, and hers matched it. “I love you more than I even thought possible, not least because until recently I thought no one would ever love a slave like me, escaped or not, but,” she held up a hand to ward off his immediate protests, “I love you, and I know you love me, scars and all. I’ve thought of you as ‘a’ King since… the Trolls, I think, or slightly before, but you’ve been my King since well before we reached Erebor.” His eyes darkened, and she had to catch her breath, ignoring how her blood raced as she wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you dare think of doing anything until I’m finished. I let you go on for ages, didn't I?” 

He nodded, relaxing from the upright position he’d been in, _like he was going to pounce_ , but his eyes stayed just as dark, and she did her best to ignore both his expression and the heat in her cheeks as she continued. “I feel safe with you, even when you’re being ridiculously tempting. When you met me, I hadn't felt really safe since the Fell Winter, but by the time we reached Beorn’s, I felt as safe with my brothers as I had as with my parents as a child, and by the time we were in Mirkwood, I felt safer with you than anyone else. You’re the most confusing man I’ve ever known, you know.” His expression fell into a confused frown, and she fought a giggle. “After insulting me in my own home, you were kind to me. You’ve been gentle with me since the Carrock, but you don’t treat me like I’m fragile, you treat me like a warrior, like I’ve earned your respect. Granted,” she laughed, “I have done since Mirkwood, but for a while, all I’d done was have a few nightmares, and you treated me like that anyway. When I'm with you, when…” 

He was staring at her again, the way that always made her heart skip a beat, and she swallowed thickly. “When you look at me like that, like… like I’m someone to be cherished, I almost can’t believe it, because you are the most incredible person I’ve ever met. You’ve done what everyone said was impossible, again and again, and even though no one’s ever told you how well you’ve done, you haven't lost that drive. You’re intelligent, ferocious, passionate,” he licked his lips, eyes fixed on hers, and she had to look away from him with a shiver, cheeks flushed, and her voice was a fair bit more breathless when she continued, “and by far, the most gorgeous man of any race I’ve ever seen. That wasn't what I was about to say, by the way, but I cant quite remember where I was.” A low, satisfied noise rumbled out of him, nearly a growl, as he smirked, and she glared half-heartedly at him. “And I’m never going to finish if you keep doing things like that.” 

His smirk only widened unrepentantly, and after a moment, she smiled almost involuntarily, and tilted her head. “Do you remember our conversation at Beorn’s? When I told you about Pairs?” Nodding, his smirk faltered; her smile widened. “I told you that Drogo calls Primula ‘Stars’, that I wanted someone like that, my Stars. You aren't my Stars.” Now his smirk faded entirely, and she laughed softly. “In the **Camps** , a starlit night was dangerous. If the Orcs could see us, they could find more work for us to do if we were awake, or hurt us ‘accidentally’ if we were asleep. I like them now, but I can’t really relax under the stars, not entirely. But in the **Camps** , a dark, starless, moonless night was a blessing from Eru Himself. On those nights, we could ignore any orders we heard, and since the Orcs’ night vision is barely better than a Hobbit’s, we could tell them that we’d gotten lost or that we just hadn't heard them, and they’d usually believe us. Those midnights were the safest time possible in those years.” She was grinning, now, and wished she could wind her hands through his hair to illustrate her point, but didn't think she’d be able to keep from kissing him if she got that close. “You aren't Thatûrê, Thorin. You’re Lemlelê, my midnight. My safe haven. And in case you hadn't realized, yes, obviously, I’ll marry you.” 

In a heartbeat, his eyes darkened until they were almost completely black, and heat flared in her… well, nearly everywhere that wasn't her face. He looked half an instant from lunging at her, and she was very much not opposed to the idea, but Oin abruptly tossed a sheet or something in Thorin’s face and came around to face her.

“I think it’s time to see how well you’ve recovered.” He, _thank the Queen!_ didn't comment on the situation, or how long it took her to catch her breath, as he had her walk across the room and back, then spent several minutes examining her eyes and reflexes before he gave a satisfied grunt and moved on to Thorin. The two Dwarrow from before, who both turned out to be men, escorted her to a separate room where her clothes were laid out, and she changed swiftly. 

Before she left the changing room, and had to face the world, she leaned against the door and tried not to think of what would've happened without Oin’s interruption. _I hope Fíli was serious about doing a quick ceremony now and having the proper one later, because I_ _really_ _can’t wait ‘a few months’_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go Sherlock! Love that show.  
> So, actual notes. In my 'verse (and probably any other Hobbit fics I write), since Dwarrow are so tough and heal so slowly, their medicine is so-so, but their medical tech is insanely advanced compared to the other Races, hence why Bella and Thorin have an overbed table. Sorry if it seems like I'm rehashing a ton, but it was like half the story ago, so I'm pretty sure it's justified.  
> (And Thatûrê means 'my stars', in case you couldn't tell.)  
> (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613) (Go read it for more Bagginshield cuteness and fluff!)  
> À bientôt!
> 
> (P.S., if anyone's confused about why Thorin passed out or why they were both out for weeks, just tell me.)


	66. Gesgashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hobbits, tiaras, and Dwarves, oh my!

“How’s this one?” Fíli handed Bella a thin _for Dwarrow_ circlet, _only_ lightly encrusted with jewels. Cautiously, she set it on her head, and it immediately slid down to press against her ears. As with the few dozen other circlets, crowns, and tiaras Fíli and Thorin had found for her, adjusting it did no good; if it was angled toward her forehead, it hurt her ears, and if it was angled toward the back of her head, it gave her a headache within a few minutes. Most were too big, and the child-sized were too small, but those that fit were painfully unwearable. They’d been at this for hours, although part of that was Bella and Thorin both delaying things as much as they could. It had been four days since they woke, and since Bella’d been sharing rooms with her family while Thorin was in his own set of rooms, this was the first time they’d seen each other for more than a few minutes. 

The majority of their time, while spent similarly, was occupied with tasks in opposite ends of the Mountain. Bella had been working with Kítos and Balin to design her personal beads, of which they would need six copies: one for each member of her family in exchange for those they'd given her, showing definitively that she claimed them just as they had; one for herself; one for Thorin when they eventually married. Whatever she designed would be her bead even after she married, and, because of her rank as Princess and reputation as Burglar, would be passed down to her children along with Thorin’s. Which, in addition to being an extremely distracting thought, meant that if she had a poor design, her children’s children’s children would probably still be stuck with it. 

Kítos wasn’t the most artistic, but Bella was, and Kítos could copy out what Bella drew without any of the faint pencil marks that made it so hard to see how the actual design looked. Her Adad, meanwhile, had nearly every family bead in existence memorized, and so was the perfect consultant. His job was to point out anything that might link Bella to another Dwarf or family, and to advise whether or not that would be wise. Some families, like the line of Durin, Bella was happy to be associated with, while with others she was… not. To say the least. While she worked on that, Thorin was working on his courtship gift to her. _Not that he’ll admit it, but it’s fairly obvious_. It was also obvious that he was helping Dwalin with his, which Kítos could see as clearly as Bella could. While they’d been asleep, Fíli and Balin had been running the Mountain, and, after much debate, it had been decided that they would continue to do so until after the wedding. Despite his initial protests, Bella knew Thorin was glad not to have to worry about his people for a few months, and she couldn't deny that she was just as glad, though her reasons weren't quite as altruistic: she wanted him focused on her, as she would be on him.

As she’d expected, the circlet was making her head ache, and she took it off with a grimace. “No good.” With a scowl, Fíli took it from her hand and tossed it onto a pile; she sighed, rubbing her temples. “Is it so important that I have a crown?” Both royals nodded grimly, and she straightened in her seat, trying to stretch the ache out of her neck. “Maybe we can take the jewels off of something?”

Thorin shook his head. “We’re done for today.”

“No, this is important to you.”

With a fond smile, he kneeled in front of her. “There’s no rush.” _Besides the obvious_. “It’s more important that you’re happy, and right now, you aren’t. You and Fíli should go back to your rooms and rest.”

Narrowing her eyes at him playfully, she tried to keep the smile off her face. “Only if you will.”

He scoffed, a laugh dancing in his eyes. “Given that if I know you, you’ll be back to work after about five minutes of respite, I would be happy to promise that.” Rolling her eyes, she couldn't deny it, and so was laughing as he took her hands and pulled her to her feet. The fire-light reflected in his eyes, but couldn't change the shade from the grape-hyacinth [blue](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/1e/bd/21/1ebd218a54a85ec1240a96a6e2effcdf.jpg) they’d been since she’d seen him on Ravenhill. The gold didn't give off its own light anymore, even this deep in the treasury, but the light was still almost the same as it had been when Smaug was here. The only real difference was that now, Thorin was solidly here, and more real than any mathom, no matter how pretty. The gold didn't bother her, or at least the sight didn’t. It was still hard to walk on, and she could hear movement from the other side of the cavernous room with how it clinked, but it was slowly being organized and divvied up between the Company, paths opening up through the mounds, but it was just gold now. Shiny, pretty, but just gold.

The three of them walked out together, Bella holding onto Thorin’s arm when they had to walk over coins. The Dwarrow, as a whole, seemed able to navigate on nearly any of it without the slightest difficulty, _like the Misty Mountains_ , but Bella couldn't keep her footing with how the coins slid underneath her. _At least now I know for certain that it_ _is_ _actually, physically happening._ However, she wasn't surprised that Thorin was leaving with them. He hadn’t come into the treasury without her yet, and she knew that it was easier for him when she was there. Lately, even when they met on the gates the night before for a few minutes, and it was pitch-black, he still somehow managed to be even darker than the shadows, and the night didn't seem as inky when he was with her. _And if that’s true for me, it has to be doubly true for him_. With her hair color, combined with the vibrancy that apparently came with being his One, she probably made the gold that had enthralled him look dingy in comparison. She knew that he was completely free of the gold-sickness, but he still worried, and so if her presence reassured him, she was happy to help. _It doesn't hurt that it’s an excuse to spend time with him_.

The day after next, after dinner, nearly the entire Company was celebrating the completion of Bella’s bead design with her, with the exceptions of Thorin and Dwalin. They were noticeably absent, and both women struggled not to show their disappointment as the party wound down. They were gathered in the sitting room now, Bella and Kítos in places of honor on the sofa while the rest of the Dwarrow lounged on the ground, though Bella had insisted her Adad take a chair. The door burst open, and Dwalin stormed in, Thorin following much more quietly behind him, and stuck a small chest in Dori’s face. Kítos clutched at Bella’s hand, holding her breath, as Dori opened the box, grumbling, to reveal a set of odd pens. Wordlessly, Dwalin plucked one out of the container and demonstrated that they held their own inkwells on a piece of paper he pulled from his pocket. Dori narrowed his eyes at him, but brought the chest over to Kítos. She immediately set it down on the sofa between her and Bella and pored over them, holding them out for Bella to examine, as well. 

Bella examined them almost as closely, eyebrows raising at the detail Dwalin had worked into the shafts: each one was uniquely engraved, half with geometric patterns, the rest with Khuzdûl runes, but Bella still couldn't read the language nearly as well as she could speak it. They were beautiful, and Bella grinned as Kítos leapt up, beaming, to kiss Dwalin on the cheek. The fearsome warrior blushed lightly, and just stared at Kítos adoringly as she chattered about how wonderful the pens were and which were her favorites. After a minute, Thorin came around to Bella and handed her a chest, as well, this one a fair bit wider and deeper, though no longer, than Kítos’. 

He shuffled back, eyes flicking between hers and the box, and she crossed her eyes at him, smiling, before lifting the lid. All her breath left her in a stunned exhalation, “Thorin.” The case held, she counted quickly, twenty-seven tiaras, all of them leagues more delicate than any in the treasury. In awe, she found herself laughing slightly, eyes wet, and gingerly trailed her fingers over the pieces.

“They’re satisfactory?” _Oh, dear Eru, he sounds so nervous!_

She grinned at him, still a little breathless. “They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.” As his shoulders relaxed and he grinned back at her, she dropped her eyes to look over them again. She hadn't exaggerated. Every single one of them incorporated flowers, vines, or leaves in one way or another, and though there were still gems set into most of them, they were tiny compared to those in Dwarven jewelry, and fit into the designs so well that some of the crowns nearly looked like they really were made of flowers.

Thorin knelt in front of her, his hands wrapped lightly around her calves, but Bella did her best to ignore him, though his pleased smile was almost as distracting as his thumbs, rubbing gently back and forth over her skin. “Try on the bigger ones, they’re for formalwear. If they’re too heavy, I can modify them.” As she carefully lifted the [most](https://www.sweetheartdetails.com/products/the-dorothea-crystal-pearl-tiara-silver-gold) ornate-looking out of its slot, her family moved to stand around Thorin, inspecting the crowns as best they could from a distance. There was a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, but he still smirked up at his friends and nephews. “Do they pass muster?” Before they could answer, Bella hummed happily. The tiara fit like a glove, and, despite its embellishments, was light enough that she barely felt it. She turned her head this way and that, but the crown never budged, and never pushed against her ears. Thorin was smiling softly at her, and she beamed at him before removing the piece and handing it to Fíli to inspect.

Kítos sat again, and Bella, blushing, gave her an apologetic smile for taking the attention away from her and Dwalin. Kítos just shook her head, returned the smile, and waved at her to keep trying on the crowns. Bella pulled out another, [this](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/66/1a/09/661a0945682005e96f923ac2a5d1e87d.jpg) one made to look as though a kaleidoscope of golden butterflies had landed on a circlet, and was so realistic that Bella half-expected them to fly away if she moved too quickly. That, [one](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/68/14/6c/68146c65815f1d7a39f7a43c56447456.jpg) shaped into twigs and dragonflies, [one](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/e3/f3/fe/e3f3fe91709a8e14b8f68eb53365e0c9.jpg) that spiraled around silver leaves and sapphires, and [one](https://www.sweetheartdetails.com/products/the-hayley-floral-swarovski-crystal-bridal-tiara) that was nearly as ornate as the first she’d tried were the heaviest of the group, but they fit as well as the first. Thorin’s eyes and smile shone brighter the more crowns she modeled, and so she gladly tested each, and laughed as Kítos poked at the smaller tiaras in the box. “They’re so plain.”

She wasn't wrong; the majority of the pieces were delicate nets with hardly any gems, and tiny, exquisite flowers dotted over the metal. “They’re perfect.” [One](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/33/fd/27/33fd27fc4045a8acd7214a6fc1e32fc0.jpg) of them had flowers made of deep sapphires and diamond flecks, and Bella lifted it, surprised at the strength of the wire.

“Those are for everyday use.” Thorin looked nervous again, and Bella blinked at him for a moment before examining the tiara more closely. It wasn't a closed circle; it had blue ribbons attached to the ends, and Bella set it on her head carefully, then tied the ribbon in a loose bow at the back of her head. It didn't seem to weigh anything at all, but the ribbons were long enough that Bella could, and did, draw them over her shoulder so that she could see them out of the corner of her eye. 

[One](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/32/be/52/32be52b54332599aedc9acbc6dec6dbc.jpg) of the remaining crowns caught her eye, and she lifted it to the firelight with a laugh. “This almost looks Elven!” It had a few more gems set into it than an Elven circlet would, but it was still more similar to Elrond’s crown, _or Thranduil’s necklace,_ than anything else.

Thorin smirked. “You like Elven jewelry. I’m not about to let some pompous leaf-eater outshine my wife.” His eyes darkened on the last word, and Bella’s retort died on her tongue. Lips suddenly dry, she licked them unconsciously and felt heat pool somewhere around her hips as his eyes fixed on her mouth. Jerking her eyes away, she busied herself with placing each tiara back in its spot as her family handed them to her. She saved the one on her head for last, and Thorin’s eyes followed it as she took it off. “Which is your favorite?”

Smiling, she tapped the crown in her hand before setting it down. “This one, of course.”

“Why?” 

He looked honestly confused, and Bella could guess why. If it hadn't been for this specific tiara, the [plainest](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/19/54/3a/19543a4f7d05905b0b2eb36df9786e87.jpg) of them would have been her favorite, _but_ … She blushed, ducking her head shyly as she answered. “It’s your color.” She still loved the greens and browns of nature more than silver or gold, but blue, the blue of his eyes, of his shirt, of this crown, was the most beautiful to her now, and had been since before Lake-Town, if not Beorn’s. Wearing it, as with the jacket he’d gotten for her, felt like she was keeping him with her no matter where she went. Thorin abruptly let go of her, moving to the other end of the room, and let out a shuddering breath while her family shuffled in to fill the gap he’d left, her Adad and ‘Undad glaring at him. 

Kítos had her hand over her mouth, muffling snickers, but Bella didn't have time to ask what was funny before Fíli spoke. “Your courting gift has been examined and accepted.” _Wait, what?!?_

“This was a— wait, you made these?!” As she gaped, Thorin came back into view, and she looked helplessly between him and the chest. He looked uncomfortable again, and stood stiffly as he nodded. “When did you make them?”

“I started after we left the treasury.”

Leaning back against the sofa, she felt a tad woozy, _and more than a little giddy_. “You made… twenty-seven tiaras… in two days.”

He flinched minutely and lifted his chin. “You thought I wasn't skilled enough?”

All she could do was laugh for a moment. “No, Broodyface McMajestic, I’ve never seen anything you made before. I didn't know you could make anything nearly this beautiful, and I certainly didn't know you could do it so quickly.” At the nickname, he’d deflated slightly, catching the slight admonition, but smiled at the compliments all the same. “But if these are your courting gift, what were you working on before?”

He straightened again, but this time, his posture didn't hold any wounded pride. This was almost unconscious as he held her eyes, and her breath caught at his expression. “My wedding gift to you.” Her heart stuttered and heat flooded her face. “It’ll be done tomorrow.” As the words sunk in, the heat in her cheeks spiraled down, and she had to bite her cheek against the fierce anticipation that followed it.

Swallowing thickly, she waited to speak until she was sure her voice was even. “Adad, how long would it take to arrange what we discussed?” She and Fíli had brought up the idea of doing two ceremonies the same day she’d woken up, and Balin had agreed, and even had a few ideas to make it more legally binding, in the eyes of the Dwarrow. Bella still thought the concept of needing a contract and such for something as straightforward as being married was strange, but she, far more than her family, was insistent on following Dwarven law. _Not a possession, not anyone’s property, and_ _not_ _a plaything. I’ll be his wife, nothing less_.

Balin cleared his throat and nodded. “We can have it done by tomorrow night.”

Nodding briskly, she ignored her blush and stood, pulling Kítos up with her. “If he agrees, we’ll take care of everything then. Goodnight.” As she and Kítos fled the room, Bella managed to keep her composure until they reached her bedchamber on the other side of the suite, then just started laughing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad it’s male Dwarrow who have to plan the wedding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A 'kaleidoscope' is what a group of butterflies is called; there's a few animal group names that i don't get, but this one is perfect. Not actually sure which is more fitting: this or a murder of crows?  
> I have a board for the full group of crowns, let me know if the link doesn't work or something: (https://www.pinterest.com/GypsyJynx/bellas-crowns/)  
> À bientôt!


	67. Hadedgashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!

_It’s a good thing I’m not wearing shoes_. Bella’d been tapping her foot for the last half-hour of dinner, a combination of nerves and impatience churning in her stomach and halving her appetite. With a deal of effort, she’d kept herself from looking at the door even once, but she was listening intently, barely hearing the conversations around her. Her attention abruptly snapped back to the table when Fíli, next to her, stood, holding his drink aloft. 

“A toast to Nan’ithê.” The Company quieted, looking at him. All of them except Balin and Thorin were there, and Balin, at least, was due any minute. Fíli turned to meet her eyes, and he took her hands as he spoke. “Bella, you’re one of the bravest women I know.” Someone muttered ‘bravest person’. “The night we met, you fainted at just the mention of incineration,” she smirked at the memory and Fíli laughed, “and here you are, less than a year later, having faced a dragon, Azog, and Mirkwood, and triumphed over all of them. You are a woman any Dwarf would be proud to call sister, and I’m unbelievably lucky that you’re mine, and Kíli’s, of course.” Kíli’s ‘oi!’ sent most of the table into guffaws, and so she didn't think anyone heard when Fíli bent down to hug her and whispered, “After tonight, you’ll be my Aunt, but you’ll always be my sister first, nan’ith.”

“Move over!” Kíli, grinning, swept her into a fierce hug, and she gladly returned the embrace. “Don’t forget, you’re my sister, too, and no matter what, you’ll always come first. Well, after Amad and Tauriel.” Still grinning unrepentantly, he had the cheek to act hurt when she flicked him, though she knew full well he’d been mostly kidding.

“My turn.” She was being picked up before she knew what was happening, but wasn't surprised to realize Dwalin was her abductor; he was the only member of the Company as tall as Thorin, after all. “You’re as good as blood, Bella. Ever need someone on your side, just say the word.” Startled, she drew back a hair, but his expression was nothing but sincere. He glanced at something out of Bella’s sight and his entire face softened. _Kítos?_

After he set her down, she turned to see her friend. _Kítos_. The scribe looked nervous, and impulsively, Bella took her hand. Kítos laughed lightly, and smiled at Bella. “We’re not family, but I think if things had gone differently, I or Nori would have offered you beads before Balin and Dwalin did. We still might, actually.” Bella laughed, shocked, but when she glanced at Nori, he only nodded soberly and raised a glass to her. Three low, loud knocks sounded, and the entire Company turned to the door.

“He’s here.” For a moment, Bella didn't realize she’d spoken, but Dwalin clapping her on the back and whispering ‘told you’ made it clear. The door opened while she was fighting her flush, and all her breath left her as Thorin came into view. He was dressed simply, as he had been for the last few days, but his hair was combed immaculately, and the beads denoting his rank and heritage that he’d refused to wear after Azanulbinzar shone in the torch-light like stars in his hair. _Lemlelê_. She hadn't expected it to be quite so apt, but she was  not complaining. His eyes were fixed on hers as he walked toward her, and she had to grip Kítos’ hand tightly to keep from launching herself at him. He moved past her to lay something on the table, and she realized Balin had followed him in and was now arranging papers on a desk near the fire. 

She turned toward Thorin, flushing, and again, all her breath left her when she saw his gift. It was a wreath. _He remembered_. In Lake-Town, one of the plethora of tidbits of Hobbit culture she’d described to Kítos had been flower meanings, and Thorin had obviously consulted her before designing this. The entire thing was made of metal and jewels, and after seeing the crowns, Bella had no doubt whatsoever that Thorin had made it himself; the thought sent a shiver through her, and heat to her cheeks. She forced herself to focus on the wreath, identifying the different parts. For flowers, there were yellow carnations and lisianthus. For leaves, ranunculus, begonia, delphinium, jasmine, and tulip, which he’d set tiny amethysts into. There were both leaves and flowers of gladiolus, calla lily, magnolia, and passion flower. If her knees felt slightly weak at the last’s double meaning, no one seemed to notice.

Someone nudged her arm, and she looked up to see Fíli raise his eyebrows at her with a wink. Heart in her throat, she simply nodded, and he, grinning, met Thorin’s eyes before saying simply, “Your proposal is accepted.” Everyone there knew full well it would be, and that the nuptials would be proceeding in about five seconds, but they cheered regardless, and Bella, blushing, grinned up at Thorin. He returned the expression, but his eyes darkened _enticingly_ as she watched him, and he closed them, stepping away, then moved to Balin. She followed, brushing off her skirts nervously. Kítos had helped her memorize a traditional Dwarven vow, though she’d looked a little uncomfortable with some of the lines, but at that moment, Bella couldn't remember a single word.

Thorin looked utterly perfect in the firelight, and Bella tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously as she stood facing him; she hadn't had time to make any new clothes yet, and was wearing the shirt and skirt she’d made at Beorn’s, and her hair was only in a loose plait, since she’d wanted to do it herself. _At least Fíli showed me how to make it a tiny bit more Dwarven_. It was only that the braid started a little differently, but her entire family had been relieved at the change, so she assumed it was good enough. “Mahal, you’re beautiful.” Her eyes shot up to Thorin’s from where she’d been staring at his collar, and a pleased, irrepressible smile crept over her, along with a new blush. “What?”

“Nothing. You’ve just never said that before, that’s all.” He looked genuinely shocked for a second, and she had to bite her lip to keep from giggling madly.

He reached out to her, eyes darkening, to brush his thumb along her lip, and her skin burned where he touched it, too cold when he moved away again. “I’ve thought it a thousand times or more.” The murmur likely wouldn't have been audible if she’d been a Dwarf, but the lack of volume only made it deeper, more husky, and the shudder that burned through her made her earlier shiver pale in comparison.

Balin cleared his throat pointedly, and the Pair jumped, Thorin’s hand falling away from her, and anticipation coiled low in her abdomen when she thought _no more interruptions after this_. Thorin took the pen from her Adad silently, and bent slightly to sign the document. Bella’d signed it earlier, after reading through the entire thing bemusedly, occasionally shaking her head at the oddity of needing a piece of paper to make a marriage legal. That, signing their names, was all that was necessary, by Dwarven customs, to marry them, but vows were important to Dwarrow, she knew that, and so she’d insisted on including them in the private ceremony as well as the official one. 

When Thorin straightened, she tried to keep from looking at him too directly, worried that one or both of them would get too distracted to finish the vows before they needed to find a private room. He seemed to understand, and kept his eyes fixed on something just to the side of her eyes as he spoke. “Belladonna Baggins, you are the star of each night, you are the brightness of every morning, you are the story of each guest, you are the report of every land.” She smiled. This was another traditional vow, and one that Bella had seriously considered at one point. Now, she was glad she hadn't picked it. “No evil shall befall you, on hill nor bank, in field or valley, on mountain or in glen. Neither above, nor below, neither in sea, nor on shore, in skies above, nor in the depths. You are the kernel of my heart, you are the face of my sun, you are the harp of my music, you are the crown of my company.” His eyes flicked to hers on ‘crown’ and stayed there until he finished, and she jerked her eyes away when felt heat start to curl through her. 

Taking a deep breath as she fixed her eyes on the silver streaks in his hair, she decided to start with his name and hope that she remembered the rest as she went. “Thorin Oakenshield… you cannot possess me for I belong to myself.” His mouth twitched into a surprised, fond smile. “But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand. I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,” her voice faltered slightly, heart pounding as she actually thought about the words, “and the eyes into which I smile in the morning. I pledge to you the first bite of my meat and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care. I shall be a shield for your back and you for mine. I shall not slander you, nor you me. I shall honor you above all others, and when we quarrel we shall do so in private and tell no strangers our grievances. This is my wedding vow to you. This is the marriage of equals.” As he had, she met his eyes for the last sentence, and felt a fierce, fervent possessiveness sink into her bones as she looked at him, the only coherent thought in her mind for a moment, _mine_.

“And now, normally, I’d say kiss the bride, but I think that can be delayed a few minutes, don’t you?” Thorin moved past Balin to the table, and Bella embraced her Adad quickly. “Be happy with him, Nuthanuthê.”

“I will be, Adad.” She kissed him on the cheek and waved to the Company as she joined Thorin at the door. _Oh, good, he remembered to bring the wreath_. 

 

Thorin didn't make any farewells as he closed the door behind them, still unable to trust his voice after Bella’s vows. They’d nearly undone him, though he’d heard them half a dozen times or more from others. _But I wasn’t marrying any of_ _them_. The words that had never been more that simply what one said during a wedding suddenly had meaning, and brought extremely vivid images to his mind. If he hadn't had to walk past the table to get to the door, he probably would have forgotten the wreath entirely; as it was, he’d barely slowed to tuck it under his arm. Bella linked her arm through his as they walked, and he realized she was shaking slightly. “Are you alright? If you’re having second thoughts—” The idea sent a stab of agony through him, but he refused to let it show; he wouldn't stop her if she walked away. _I’d never forget her, never stop mourning her absence, but never stop her_. 

She cut him off as she looked up at him, mouth quirked into a reassuring, _tempting_ smile. “Never. I’m…” She looked away with a slight blush. “I’m nervous, but I’m excited, too, and a little impatient.”

As her words sunk in, his mouth was suddenly dry, and he fixed his eyes on his door to keep from claiming her there, in the corridor. He’d had nails placed in the door to hold the wreath earlier that day, and Bella slipped into the rooms while he hung the wreath. He entered, closing the door behind him, just in time to see her walk into the bedroom. He started toward her, needing to touch her, but she held up a hand, eyes as dark as he was sure his were.

“One moment.” She shut the door securely, and Thorin, despite his confusion, waited somewhat patiently outside. After a minute or so that felt like an hour, the door opened again to show that she’d taken out her braid and, presumably, placed her beads somewhere safe. _But that wouldn't have taken that long_. “Did you hear anything?”

He shook his head, the way her hair once again cascaded over her like molten gold stealing nearly all his words from him, but he managed one, his voice huskier than he’d intended. “Why?”

She blushed, but there was an impish, _confident_ glint in her eyes as she lifted her chin up. “I wanted to test how soundproof the room is, so I was screaming.” Her vow came back to him, one line in particular thundering in his ears, and he slammed the door shut behind him as he lowered his mouth _finally_ onto hers. 

As soon as their lips met, it was as though they were welded together, and he couldn't have pulled away if he’d wanted to, which he _emphatically_ didn’t. If touching her hand or her cheek had burned, this was an inferno, a blaze more ardent than any dragon-fire, and deepening the kiss only made it worse. She was clutching at him, grasping his shirt as though she couldn't stand on her own, and he used one hand to press against the small of her back while the other slid the straps of the skirt off her shoulders. 

She broke the kiss for an instant, yanking her shirt up and over her head before pulling him back to meet her, and the feeling of her bare, cold chest against him drew a low, guttural groan from his throat; she shuddered against him, and it was as torturously exquisite a sensation as he’d imagined. She still wasn't close enough, and he realized he was still wearing his own shirt. Breaking the kiss again was unthinkable, so, with a growl, he grasped the collar and tore it down the middle, shoving it off his arms before sliding his hands over her, feeling the differing textures under his fingers: soft skin, rough lash-marks, uneven scars, and the more he ran his hands over them, the more intensely his wife kissed him. 

 _Wife_. The word sent another wave of fire through him, and, still without breaking the kiss, he pulled her skirt down, groaning again to realize she hadn't worn anything underneath it. She was only too happy to let him lift her out of the circle of fabric pooled on the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist and sinking her hands into his hair. Stumbling forward to where he remembered the bed being, he couldn't help but copy her, running his hands through her hair, and _finally,_ _finally_ over her ears. As he did, she arched into him even more, if that was possible, hips bucking, and while the sound she made wasn't his or any name, it still called an answering growl out of him. 

His legs collided with the bed, and they fell onto the mattress, him cushioning her as best he could. One of her hands moved down to his shoulder, leaving a trail of embers in its wake, and he growled again, lower, as he pulled his trousers down and kicked them off. He toyed with her ear again, this time specifically with the tip, and her hands spasmed, nails scraping roughly against his scars and his scalp, and this time he cried out. He pressed her into the mattress as he’d imagined, feeling his entire body blaze with the feeling of her skin moving against his, and everything after that was a satisfying, if frenzied, blur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks out from behind the couch* So… whadja think? I think I can safely say that that’s as close to a sex scene as I’m comfortable writing, and I think I could’ve done a better job, but… Yeah. I think I’m satisfied with that. Sorry about skimming over all the rebuilding of Erebor, but that’s really not the point of this story. Speaking of, pretty much everything since/after they woke up after the Battle can be considered an extended epilogue; it’s pretty much just tying up loose ends, showing that life does, indeed, go on, and lots of Bagginshield fluff. But still, hope you’ll stick around until the actual epilogue; one beta’s reaction to it suggested that it’s good? Maybe? Is it bad that I’m still not entirely sure I’m a good writer? Okay writer, that I can believe, maybe an adequate writer. Hmm. Eh. I get more soppy at night; that’s probably why I do most of my writing then. (Fun fact: when I decided my name on here would be ‘NightAuthor’, I was just going for a play on ‘Night Nurse’ since Daredevil had just come out and Claire Temple was my absolute-ultimate-favorite-character-ever at the time; I did *not* expect it to actually be an accurate description of my writing habits.)  
> Their vows are actual traditional Celtic vows; I didn’t even have to rejigger the wording!  
> And again, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! To those of you in the same timezone as me, anyway. (^u^)  
> À bientôt!


	68. Gimongashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

Bella woke slowly, feeling better rested than she had been in years, and smiled broadly when she realized that she was fully lying on her husband, both of them completely bare. It was tempting, _so tempting_ , to repeat what they’d just finished a few hours before, but for the first time in a long while, the temptation wasn't overpowering, and instead she blinked languidly up at him, playing with his beard. His eyes opened a few moments later, and she smirked. “Morning, husband.”

He brushed his hand over her cheek drowsily, but went no lower or further back; he knew by now that if that was what she wanted, she’d make it clear enough. “What time is it?”

She chuckled, comparing the length of his beard to her fingers. “What month is it?” She wasn't entirely sure how quickly Dwarven beards grew, but his was at least an inch or two longer than her last clear memory of him. Her dream came back to her, and she chuckled. “You wouldn't ask for directions to Bag-End. And you thought I’d be useless after I fainted.” 

With a playful growl, he flipped them over, propping himself up so that he was directly over her. “You thought Fíli and Kíli were attractive, although I enjoyed hearing how much you liked my singing voice.” She giggled, and laughed out loud when he nuzzled her, letting his beard tickle her neck like he knew it always did. “I thought Ralenns were only of memories before a Pair met.”

“They are,” he pulled back and she kissed the tip of his nose, looping her arms around his neck with a smile, “until the wedding night. Then, well, you know the stage after that,” _Given that we’ve only just come out of that stage, it would be hard to forget_ , “And once that ends, then the Ralenns show the Pair each other’s memories starting from the day they met, all the way up to the day they married. Oh, and from now on, we’ll see each other’s days.”

“That, I knew.” He rolled them again while she laughed, and kissed her lazily. She deepened it, and although the pace didn't change, the intent did.

She never had gotten the courage to detail the middle stage of Ralenns to Kítos; as two unmarried women, it was too mortifying for both of them, even without the added hurdle of Dwarven sensibilities. The first stage, while the Pair were getting to know each other, was split into two subcategories: the dreams before each realized who the other was, and after. Those dreams focused more on their environment than anything else, and the Voshel or Vashil’s thoughts were only on display so far as their expressions were. The middle stage of Ralenns was more… intimate.

Starting from the wedding night and going until… well, there were any number of explanations, but Bella’s favorite at the moment was that it lasted until the Pair had both learned all of their spouse’s ‘weak’ spots. Rather than show the Voshel or Vashil from outside their perspective, these Ralenns were inseparable from the spouse, and so, for the last who-knows-how-long since their wedding, every time Bella slept, she’d relived what she and Thorin had just done, from his perspective, feeling for herself which things she did to him were satisfying and which weren’t, and, in turn, he relived her perspective. Once they woke, the drive to repeat the best and test new experiments was deliciously overwhelming. As could be expected, at this point, they were as familiar with each other as two people could be.

The third stage was less… incendiary, but no less intimate. Whenever the middle stage ended, the Ralenns from that point would still be the other’s memories, complete with his or her emotions and sensations throughout, but would cover the activities of the entire day, not just what the Pair did in bed. If the Pair hadn't grown up together, uncommon in the Shire, but not unheard of, they would have two dreams a night, one of the day just gone, one of a day after they'd met, until they were caught up. Given the nature of Pairs, and time, this also meant that they would see the memories in unison, thus why Bella and Thorin had both just dreamed of the day they’d met. 

Some time later, Bella slid off of him, sat up, and looked around the room, stifling a giggle. “Poor Bofur.” There were empty food trays scattered over the floor, impatiently cleared off when their hunger had been distracting enough to bring them out of the haze, and shoved away when the blur settled back in.

“What about poor me?” Thorin’s arm slid around her waist, and she shivered as he pressed his warm lips to the scars on her lower back. “You made me fetch the food from all the way outside.”

“Well, it would've been cruel to make her bring it into the room.” Smirking, she turned around, careful not to dislodge his arm, and bent down until her lips brushed his as she spoke. “Would you have preferred we had a witness?” Her sarcasm brought the possessive growl she’d been hoping for, and his hand skimmed up her spine to the base of her skull as he kissed her again, thoroughly, growling in Khuzdûl. In between spine-melting kisses, she managed to breathlessly murmur, “Absolutely… no… problem.” She didn't want anyone else to see him undressed, either.

Eventually, they dragged themselves to the adjoining bathroom to answer the call of nature, then to clean up, then to answer an altogether different call of nature which necessitated cleaning up again, not that they minded. But all too soon, they had to face the outside world. It took quite a bit longer than it should have to get dressed, but she was just glad her clothes weren’t ruined like his shirt was; if he hadn't had extra clothes in the wardrobe, they might've had to stay in until he could get replacements, _and how terrible_ _that_ _would’ve been_. They strolled out of the suite, arms linked, laughing together at the occasional stares they got as they walked, and found their way to the ramparts. It was night, not long after sunset, going by the ebbing color on the horizon, and the watchman informed them, stammering, that it was nearly planting season, that the wagons from Ered Luin were due to arrive in a couple weeks, and that the Company were doing well. All twelve were evidently celebrities of a sort, now, and the guard was able to tell them what they’d been up to just the previous day, although where Bofur disappeared to for a few minutes every day was a mystery.

Laughing again, they left him to his duty and returned to their rooms, deciding to take one more night for themselves after all. They did take the wreath down, though, and hung it in their bedroom as a memento, of sorts.

 

Fíli fought not to rub his temples to alleviate the headache that had been building for the last hour. Relations with Mirkwood, _sorry, Greenwood_ , were better than they had been since Thraín’s rule, but the way the Elven ambassadors danced around what they actually wanted was infuriating. They took a paragraph to ask a question, and used a single vague question when Fíli was sure it would take a paragraph to explain what they really meant. He’d been doing his best Thorin impression since the Elves were shown into the throne room, and could see Balin doing much the same out of the corner of his eye. 

A faint noise echoed toward the throne, and the Elf who’d been speaking trailed off, his confusion the only genuine emotion he’d displayed yet today. The noise returned, and swiftly grew loud enough for Fíli to recognize his sister’s voice, though she was laughing hard enough to render her words nearly unintelligible. “…ut me down, you ridiculous Dwarf, we’re supposed to be majestic!”

“CHARGE ‘EM AND THEY SCATTER!” Thorin’s roar thundered through the cavernous throne room, and the Elves leapt aside as Thorin, Bella over his shoulder, ran headlong toward the throne, grinning more widely than Fíli’d ever seen him. He had to circle the throne to slow down without going over the edge, and had barely stopped before he tossed Bella a foot into the air, laughing madly.

She shrieked, but it was with a ecstatic grin, and she mock-glared at him after he caught her. “You’re just trying to make me afraid to let go of you, aren't you, Lemlelê?” He pursed his lips, pretending to think, and Fíli couldn't help but laugh at how happy the two of them looked. He’d never seen Thorin so relaxed, and while Bella was much easier to please, she was clearly as happy as her husband. 

They looked over at him as he laughed, and he stood from the throne with a grin, arms outstretched. “So do I get a hug from my new Aunt?” Bella fairly bounced into his arms while Thorin greeted Balin, and he twirled his sister around before letting her go with a last squeeze. “I missed you.” 

The newlyweds traded relatives, Bella pulling Balin into a hug while Thorin came over to Fíli. “I hear you’ve done well, Fíli. I expected no less.” Surprisingly, the King pulled Fíli into a hug much as his wife had done with Balin, and Fíli felt a weight leave his shoulders. _He’s here and he’s proud of me_.

“Is this the custom of Dwarves, then, to slight their trading partners?” _Mahal-cursed leaf-eaters_.

Before he could say anything, Bella coolly raised an eyebrow at the lead Elf. “Is it the custom of Elves to imprison travelers indefinitely? I have to say, Elros, I’m surprised you were allowed such an important position as delegate to Erebor after your… blunder? Shall we say?” The Elf blanched, then reddened, fists clenching, but she didn't give him time to respond. “But perhaps isolated incidents should be treated as just that, and not allowed to spoil such hard work as this.” She stared coldly at the Elf while Thorin smiled, and the Elf, Elros, slowly lowered his eyes, though he remained visibly angry. Smiling, she turned to Thorin and the two of them had a quick, low exchange before he kissed her briefly and spoke to Balin. Bella came over to Fíli, still smiling, and stood next to him as Thorin and Balin made their farewells. 

She stood with him for the remainder of the day, gently reminding the Elves of her and Fíli’s rank when they were subtly disrespectful, and offering a different sort of support than Balin had, but Fíli appreciated it all the same. She was aware of the reasons for their prejudice against the leaf-eaters, but didn't share it, at least not to the same degree, and as such was a moderately neutral party, though she made it clear she stood solidly on the side of Erebor and the Dwarrow. All in all, her assistance kept both parties on the subject, and with her help, Fíli was able to count the meeting as a victory.

Thorin, meanwhile, was poring over the paperwork from the last five months, and Balin chuckled at the sight of him. “You look younger, laddie.”

Without looking up, he retorted, “It’s probably the smile.”

The dry response only intensified Balin’s laughter. “Aye, probably.” They sat in peaceful silence, apart from the rustling of pages, for several minutes. “Daín was sorry to miss you. He had to return to the Iron Hills a couple of months ago, but he said he’ll be back for the wedding, whenever that is.”

Thorin hummed, slightly, and Balin grinned at how Bella’d rubbed off on him. “Sometime after Dís arrives. I’m sure she’ll want to help plan it, but maybe by midsummer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this one was kind of infodump-y, but there really wasn't anywhere earlier I could explain this stuff, so... yeah.  
> If Thorin's 'charge' seemed a little out of nowhere... well, it kind of was. But I found this factoid and couldn't resist:  
> (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/a9/f0/e9/a9f0e949d9cd0e6c80a344e53bbf942c.png)  
> (^u^)
> 
> (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613)  
> À bientôt!


	69. Tagergashem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Family: Durin Edition!

Bella was tapping her foot again. Thorin took her hand and kissed it tenderly while Kíli pulled her into a gentle side-hug. “Don’t worry, nan’ith, Amad will love you.” 

He wished he could hug her like he wanted to, but all of them had their best clothes on, and Bella would never forgive him if she looked unkempt when she met her sister-in-law. She shot him a half-hearted glare, too nervous to put any real heat into it, and her coronet caught the light as she shook her head irritably. The gold net was nearly invisible from more than a few feet away, and it looked as though the Durin-blue flowers had simply bloomed in her hair of their own accord. When he’d arrived at the King _and Queen’s_ suite, she’d been arguing with herself, going between crowns, and it had taken he, Thorin, and Fíli to convince her that no one would think any less of her for not wearing the most ornate. 

It wasn't exactly a lie, though it wasn't exactly true, but all three of them had seen that wearing her favorite would help her stay calm. Then she’d planted herself in front of Fíli and all but demanded he fix her hair for her, and although she’d probably heard Thorin’s quiet direction to make sure her beads were easily visible, she hadn't said anything. The style Fíli had settled on was an elaborate [braid](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/b7/da/8c/b7da8c2224a412d25964513ea0784e72.jpg) at her back, the ribbons woven into it, and the rest of her hair tumbling down freely, with three smaller plaits on either side to display her beads over her shoulders.

The wagons from Ered Luin came into view, three riders ahead of them. _Amad_. The other two would be her guards, of course, though she was more than capable of defending herself. According to Thorin, she’d never had guards until Fíli was born, then she insisted on them, terrified that a stupid mistake would cost her son his mother. She’d set a new precedent, but Kíli hadn't told his nan’ith yet that her sister-in-law was the reason she couldn't leave the Mountain without an escort; Bella was an excellent fighter, but still wasn't at the same level as the rest of the adult Dwarrow in the Mountain, and given that there were still occasionally groups of Orcs found wandering, none of her family were willing to risk her safety, especially her husband. She did seem to enjoy that her brothers had to put up with guards as well, though.

Bella smoothed down her skirts nervously, and Kíli caught her hand, weaving his fingers in hers and swinging their hands fractionally back and forth. She’d formally chosen designing clothes as her craft, and had made herself an entire wardrobe to prove her skill. Her clothes were an odd mix of Dwarven and Hobbit fashions, all with clever cuts and folds that let her move freely _and fight if she needs to_ , but they suited her, and some, including the dress she wore now, even had tiny gems set into the fabric, and silver or gold embroidery. It was more showy than any Hobbit dress, more plain than any Dwarrow dress, and if anyone dared disparage her in his hearing, they’d regret it. _Granted, if they do it in_ _her_ _hearing, she’ll probably make them regret it, but she’ll probably forgive them a minute or two later_. He did love how forgiving she was, but there were times when he wished she was a little less so.

The riders stopped a few yards away, and his Amad dismounted, still in traveling trousers, though befitting her station. Bella took a deep breath, lifting her chin, and let go of his hand. She stayed still, now, and every inch of her bearing was regal, not that she’d believe him if he said so; she didn't see anything special in how she held herself, and it had taken him months to realize it was because she wasn't putting on a mask, this was just Bella, albeit under pressure. “Hail, Thorin, son of Thraín, King Under the Mountain.”

“Hail, Dís, daughter of Thraín, Princess of Erebor.” As soon as Thorin finished, Kíli and Fíli both rushed forward. They’d discussed this earlier, and Thorin had agreed that as long as they waited until after the official recognitions, they didn't have to abide by the standard protocols. In most cases, launching themselves at a noble, no matter how closely related, would be a huge break in etiquette, but because of their age, they had a little leeway. As Kíli felt his Amad’s arms around him for the first time in a year, he was sure he’d never been so grateful for his youth.

She let loose a shuddering breath, but no tears. Those, he knew, she would save for private, although he wasn't looking forward to her reactions to some of the scrapes they'd gotten into. _Maybe hearing how Bella saved us will help?_ She stepped to Thorin, and the siblings pressed their foreheads together, smiling faintly. Fíli moved to Bella’s side, Kíli following, and the archer ended up between his Amad and nan’ith, across from his uncle. 

Fíli cleared his throat, and Kíli hoped their Amad didn't notice Bella subtly kick their ‘Undad in the shins as she pulled away from Thorin, expression guarded again. “Amad, may I present Belladonna Baggins, Burglar of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Dwarf-friend, chosen sister of the sons of Dís,” his Amad jolted slightly, “chosen daughter of Balin, chosen niece of Dwalin, dragon-scoffer, Orc-slayer,” Bella’s mouth twitched up before she caught herself, “Master Archer, former Princess of Erebor—”

“Former?”

Thorin smiled, proud and bright, and Kíli wondered if he’d ever get used to how contentedly happy his uncle was now. _I hope not_. “Now Queen.” 

Bella stifled what sounded like a snicker, as she had for the last fortnight whenever someone tried to bow to her or called her ‘your majesty’. She’d told him that she still found her new standing a little ridiculous, but that she’d get used to it soon enough. Except for the honorific. If she was with one of the Company when she heard it, she’d mutter something about ‘Thorin’s majesty and its dignity’, and now the word just made Kíli picture Thorin’s beard deciding it was too majestic for the likes of him and wandering off on its own. Thorin turned to Bella and his smile softened. _I wonder if that’s what I look like when I see Tauriel. It would explain why Fíli keeps mocking me_. 

The King took his wife’s hand and pressed her palm to his lips, holding her eyes all the while, and murmuring against her skin, “Vashil, One, and wife.”

Bella was trying to hold her smile back, Kíli could tell, but it was irrepressible, and when she gave up, it was every bit as blinding as it had been at Beorn’s. The lines that had formed around his Amad’s mouth eased, now, and her stance relaxed slightly. Bella’s smile shifted to an impish smirk. “Rather thoroughly, at this point.” As he realized what she meant, an instant after his brother, Kíli groaned, nauseated, and tried to think of literally anything but what his sister’d just teased. She snickered at them unrepentantly. “Well, it’s not my fault you’re all prudes.”

“Not all.” Thorin tugged Bella to him, leaning down to kiss her, but stopped when she hissed his name and, Kíli assumed, made some face or gesture he couldn't see from that angle. Thorin glanced at Dís, then looked back at his wife and shrugged in a ‘why not’ gesture. “Nothing she’s never seen before.” With a grin, he dropped his hands to hook under her… bustle, and lifted her so that she was at his eye level.

She threw her head back in a dramatic sigh, but looped her arms around his neck as he shifted one hand to support her while the other played with her curls. “Ridiculous Dwarf.” Fondly, she toyed with a braid of his that Kíli knew held her bead.

Thorin just grinned wider. “I blame you.”

Humming slightly, Bella tilted her head to the side, then nodded. “Fair enough.” Both of them laughing softly, they leaned their heads against each other, and Kíli had seen them do things like this often enough in the last fortnight to know if they weren't interrupted soon, either they’d traumatize everyone in the near vicinity or run off to their rooms for the rest of the day.

Surprisingly, his Amad was the one to speak up, smiling broadly. “I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know the woman who broke my brother out of his shell.”

Bella smiled at her, turning away from Thorin. “I’ve heard so much about you from Thorin and Undâdê that I’ve been somewhat terrified you wouldn't like me. Especially after seeing the walnut s—” Thorin’s head tilted; Kíli couldn't see what he was doing, but Bella cut herself off with a short yip of a laugh. “Thorin!”

He pulled back and looked at her innocently. “I’m sorry, are you ticklish there?” 

The only one of Bella’s feet Kíli could see moved to hook around Thorin’s leg, and Kíli cleared his throat as loudly as he could. Bella immediately turned to look at him, but Thorin’s hand not currently holding her up smoothed across her back, sliding under her hair, and Kíli tugged his Amad toward the gates while Fíli shoved at Thorin. “It’s best for everyone if they go someplace more private, believe me.”

She just looked amused. “Still in the honeymoon stage?”

Kíli snorted. “Their honeymoon lasted three and a half months, and I think it’s going to go on for another decade.”

“He seems happy.”

Just before they reached the gate, Kíli stopped and faced his Amad. _I’m taller than her. When did that happen?_ “He is. And it’s not just the honeymoon, they were like this in Lake-Town, too, just without the kissing. She’s…” Thorin moved past them, Bella now running beside him, hand in hand, and she tossed a grin over her shoulder at them. Kíli chuckled. “She went through Hell and came out still able to smile, and being around her makes it a little easier to do the same.” His Amad looked like she might have said something more, if they hadn't stepped into the hall just then. It was completely repaired, now, except for the bell, and Kíli imagined it looked like it had when she’d lived there before. She’d told him and Fíli that it was getting harder to remember, but from the look on her face, he’d guess it just got a little easier. Tears gathered in her eyes, but this time she didn't fight them, and Kíli wrapped an arm around her while Fíli did the same on her other side.

“Welcome home, Amad.”

 

Later that night, the reception was in full swing when Dwalin saw Bella enter the room. He tossed back his ale as Kíli waved her over, and he moved to join them. Kíli and Fíli were both standing with Dís, both boys chattering happily, conversations and music all around them, and Bella still heard Dwalin sneak up behind her. “Nice try, Mugragurê.” He pounced anyway, dropping a kiss to the top of her head and laying an arm across her shoulders, though he resisted the urge to actually tackle her. _She’s wearing skirts, can’t risk anything_.

Dís raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Since when is Dwalin ‘little’?”

Bella’s hair moved against his arm, and he looked down to see her smiling mischievously at him. “Since he’s a teddy bear and that’s the closest translation I could find.” He removed his arm to gently tug on a stray curl, and Bella batted his hand away, laughing. Dís was silent, and staring at something. It took him a moment to realize she was staring at the top of Bella’s scar, the low neck of her formal dress exposing just enough of the burns to be concerning. Bella followed his gaze and stilled. When she spoke, her voice was even, but with the way she was leaning against his side, he could feel a tiny tremor running through her. “I’d show you the rest, but I’m afraid they aren't suitable for public.”

Dís _finally_ raised her eyes to meet Bella’s. “What is that?”

“A brand.” The tremor grew a little more noticeable, though still not visible. “Specifically, Azog’s.”

Dís’ eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up, and her low voice shook. “The Defiler owned you?”

Bella abruptly stilled, and Dwalin smothered a snicker at how frosty her voice became. “No. He was my holder. I am not and have never been anyone’s property.”

Dís’ expression cooled, became more guarded. “And where is he now?”

“Dead.”

“How?”

“I put an arrow through his eye.” A distinctly satisfied note entered Bella’s voice. “It was very cathartic, especially since he was trying to kill Thorin at the time.” _And you nearly died because I wasn’t there to protect you_. He drew slightly away from Bella, and she immediately rounded on him. “Stop beating yourself up about it! You killed Bolg for me, didn't you?”

Kíli cleared his throat. “And where is his majesty?”

Bella turned back to her brother. “Trying to reach his shirt. It got stuck under the wardrobe.”

Incredulous, Kíli raised an eyebrow. “How’d it get there?”

“Sure you want to know?” He squawked, turning red, and Bella leaned back as she laughed, just enough for Dwalin to see her evil grin fade into an only impish one, and he moved to her side so he could better see the shifts in her mood.

“You know,” Dís started conversationally, “As Queen you really should've had at least some fanfare when you came in the room just now.”

Bella nodded amiably. “Yes, and if we’d been on time, we would have.”

Dís tilted her head to the side. “You don't care much for formalities, do you?”

The evil grin returned. “Why do you think I hid his shirt?” 

Dwalin and Dís both burst out laughing, and the Princess calmed much faster than he did. “I think I’m going to like you, Burglar.”

“Bella.”

Dís tilted her head again, eyes flicking between the Queen’s, and after several seconds, smiled genuinely. “Bella.” Kíli and Dwalin shared a pleased smile, happy to see the women getting along, and Dwalin excused himself as gracefully as he knew how. 

As he fetched a fresh mug of ale, a flash of tawny hair caught his eye, and, chuckling, he joined his One in her observation of the royal family. She was tucked away in an alcove, and so he let himself stand a little closer than he might have if anyone else had been around. Kítos gave him a smile, the expression bright and sunny and just for him, and warmth built in his chest until he couldn't help but smile back, just as he did every time he saw her. “Bella’s right, you know.”

“About what?”

“You did everything you could.” Frowning, he started to shake his head, but she laid a hand on his arm and he stilled. Even courting, as they were, if anyone saw this, the entire Mountain would know about it in a day, and they’d all be convinced that the two of them were… well, that he’d disrespected her. She stared up at him evenly, expression serene. “If you’d done  anything differently, you might have died, Dwalin. You told me that you were fighting for your life the entire time.”

“But we almost lost both of them.” When Thorin passed out, when the Elf explained why, Dwalin didn't think he’d ever been so terrified. Thorin had been his best friend for over a hundred and sixty years, and even after the gold-sickness, he still was. Dwalin might not have known Bella as long, but everything from her age to her gender to her history demanded that he protect her, and everything about who she was, her smile, her laughter, had made him care for her. She was strong, brilliant, a match for any Dwarf, and almost as dear to him as Kítos. Losing one of them would be agony, but losing both at once might have killed him.

Kítos squeezed his arm lightly, smiling sympathetically. “But I might have lost you.” The words knocked the air from him. _I never even thought_ … “And we didn't lose either of them. We didn't lose anyone, thank Mahal.” With a final squeeze, she released his arm and looked back toward Dís and Bella. Thorin had joined them at some point, shirt somewhat rumpled, but as Dwalin watched, he kissed both women on the forehead and moved toward Balin. Kítos smiled, watching them. “You know, your wedding gift’s been done for ages, and everyone’s here in the Mountain, and awake, now.” Half-turning to him, she smiled up at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Want to get married?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Mugragurê' means 'little bear', in case you couldn't tell from the dialogue. And Dwalin is totally a teddy bear, fight me.  
> And Bella absolutely vetoed about twenty other titles that the Company wanted to give her, but she got outvoted on a couple and she's proud of 'Orc-slayer'.  
> (And the 'majesty and its dignity' thing is totally a reference to chapter 34, btw.)  
> (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412197/chapters/5335613)  
> À bientôt!
> 
>  
> 
> (P.S., everyone gets why Thorin passed out, right? If you don't, just say something and I'll clear it up.)


	70. Hadêm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking 950ish miles in someone’s shoes isn’t always pleasant.

“Ye are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone. I give ye my body, that we two might be One. I give ye my spirit, ’til our life shall be done.” Kitos was smiling up at Dwalin more broadly than Bella’d ever seen her as she repeated his vow. _Hanging a sign around their necks might not be personal, but it does seem effective. Granted, she was in love with him for a while before she realized he was her One, but still_. They both looked happier than they’d been in some time, and Bella couldn't stop a grin. Dwarven ceremonies still seemed odd, but there was a beauty in them that Bella couldn't deny. Balin pronounced them married, and they kissed sweetly, to cheers. 

Thorin curled an arm around her, fingertips on her abdomen, and she flicked his hand lightly. _Not yet, Lemlelê. In a few days_. Chuckling, he nonetheless drew his hand back a fraction to rest on her waist instead, and joined her in cheering for the newlyweds. _This is their day. I’m not going to take it away from them_. Thorin had wanted to shout it from the mountaintop when she told him, but he’d agreed to wait a week or two. He’d also wanted to stop ‘exhausting’ her, but she’d changed his mind on that easily enough.

As King and Queen, they had the right to push forward and greet them first, but they held back until after Balin and Kítos’ brothers finished. Ori was with them, now; he’d been on the first wagon from Ered Luin, and was quite the promising administrator. He was much like his sister, though he didn't share her passion for the written word, as Bella’d found over the last week of working with him, and Bella enjoyed his company. She smiled at him as they neared the couple, but rushed to Kítos with a grin. She threw her arms around her friend before she thought, and pulled back almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ 

Kítos just laughed and pulled her back in. “I already told you, I might’ve offered you a bead if there’d been time. Besides, we get leeway on my wedding day.” 

Grinning, Bella gripped her tighter, before drawing back and clasping their hands together. “A full home, a full larder, a full life.” Kítos frowned at her bemusedly, and Bella shrugged. “Hobbit wedding wishes.” Thorin tapped her shoulder, and she moved aside to let him  greet the bride. Dwalin yanked her into a bear hug, and she hugged him just as tightly. “Full home, full larder, full life, Irak’adad.”

Thorin growled lowly, and she turned to see he was glowering at Dwalin. She rolled her eyes. “Ignore him, he’s being overprotective.” _Honestly, I’m not even showing yet_. Dwalin frowned at her much as his wife had, and she smiled self-deprecatingly at her blunder. “I’ll tell you later, I promise.” His frown persisted for a moment, but he smiled and shrugged as Kítos called him, and set Bella carefully down. Thorin moved to her side, hand moving toward her middle before he caught it and took her hand instead; Bella tried to pretend having his hand in hers wasn't as comforting for her as it clearly was for him as they made their way to the edge of the room, away from the crowds. “I’m fine, McMajestic.” She lowered her voice as she continued. “I’ll have you know, my mother once walked to Bree and back when she was six months along, and I turned out fine.”

Shaking his head, he muttered, “I know, I’m just—”

“Worried.” She carded a hand through his hair and down his jaw. “Worrying isn't a problem, I’m worried too. Just don’t treat me like I’m made of glass.”

Leaning down to press his forehead against hers, he chuckled. “Believe me, Lukhdelê, when we announce this, everyone will be worried.”

 

The next morning, Bella was woken abruptly by Thorin pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly as he trembled minutely. _What_ — The latest Ralenn rushed back to her. _The Trolls_. She returned his embrace, burying her face in his chest as he did the same in her hair. Sorting through the events of the days, her brow furrowed. “You were that worried when the twins took me away?”

He laughed softly, the threat of tears in the sound. “Of course, after you were hurt so  badly. With how much pain you were in, I should've been even more so.” Lightly, he traced circles on her shoulder where the Troll had hit her. “You… you really didn't think it mattered if you died, did you?”

Swallowing, Bella pushed herself up to look into his eyes. “I would've rather died saving all of you than watch all of you die saving me, yes.” His grip on her tightened for a moment, his eyes widening. Hurriedly, she pressed a fingertip to his lips. “I’m better now. I wouldn't make the same decisions, or at least all of the same decisions, if I could do it again.” He still looked distressed, and she pulled herself up to press their foreheads together with a sigh. “I do not and have never wanted to die, Thorin. At the time, I would have gone through nearly anything if it kept all of you from being in pain, but I wasn't trying to die. Just trying to keep you alive.” She kissed him chastely, then dropped back down to tuck her head under his chin while he rubbed one hand up and down her back.

“Swear that you won’t put yourself at risk like that again.”

With a scoff, she tweaked his beard gently. “I already said I wouldn't do it over again if I could, Lemlelê. But I’m never going to stop trying to keep you alive.”

“Bella…” His hand slid down to smooth over her belly. “At least while you’re pregnant. Swear you’ll keep yourself safe.”

After a moment’s thought, she nodded easily. “I swear. Will you stop being so overprotective now?” His thumb brushed over the edge of her pelvis while his chuckles rumbled through her; the combination made her heart beat a little faster as she shivered, and evidently he was similarly affected.

“I’ll do my best, Zabdûnaê,” he leaned down to kiss her, “But I can’t promise the same for our people.” _Fair enough_. She gleefully reciprocated when he deepened the kiss, and everything was a bit blurred after that.

 

Three weeks after that, Thorin woke at Bella’s gasp, and ran his hands over her, _she’s freezing_ , checking for wounds, before he knew what he was doing. The Ralenn charged back with a vengeance, and he stared at the words on her chest for several seconds as he fought not to grab her again. _That pain is gone. It’s never coming back, Azog is never coming back_. Her eyes, when he looked away from the scar, were unfocused, and he gently chucked her chin. Abruptly, she seemed to come back to the present, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she clutched at Thorin. He realized she was shivering, and carefully propped himself over her, trying to surround her as much as he could, warm her as much as he could. 

It only took a few minutes for her to calm, but as she did, more and more of her memories over those days came back to him, and he felt as though he were drowning in them. She shifted under him, and he realized having her there was more for his benefit than hers. When he started to pull away, her hands snaked into his hair, tugging him back, and his restraint gave out. He sank onto her, pressing his head into the junction between her neck and shoulder, and when he spoke, his voice was a pained groan. “Mahal, Bella, how are you sane?”

The pain she’d experienced on the cliffs and as she railed at Gandalf had been a thousand times worse than anything Thorin could have ever imagined, and combined with the terror running through her for almost the entire time, it would have been enough to break him, he was sure. She shushed him softly, kissing the side of his head and rubbing her hands over the taut muscles in his back. “I could say the same to you, going after Azog like that.”

He stayed there, shuddering against her, for another few minutes before drawing back again. “You shouldn't be comforting me, you’re the one who actually went through it, I—”

“Was also injured, and in my defense.” Expression tense, she traced the scars on his shoulder. “And had to watch your One in agony.” She huffed, eyes lightening a shade. “You could've told me how sudden it was, you know. It felt like getting hit by a troll.” Her cool hands ran up his neck and into his beard, and he closed his eyes, leaning down to gingerly press their heads together. “Although I think it’s a good thing it didn't slam into me like that; I probably would've jumped you before we even got to Beorn’s.”

He huffed out a laugh, and she relaxed under him a fraction. The memory of her escape from the caves made his gut churn a moment later, and he drew back just enough to meet her eyes. “We need to tell Gandalf about your ring.” Anxiety flickered across her face, and he shook his head. “It was subtle, but that thing was pushing you to kill Gollum. I don’t trust it around our child.” On the last words, her eyes seemed to clear marginally, and she frowned, thinking. Thorin waited somewhat patiently, and toyed with one of her curls as he did.

One of her hands drifted down to her abdomen, and she nodded. “When we see Gandalf next, we’ll ask him to look at it, and for now…” She clenched her jaw, but met his eyes stubbornly. “For now we’ll lock it away. Somewhere no one can get it, including me.”

He frowned. “Why would you—”

“It moves.” Biting her lip, she averted her eyes slightly. “You saw, when Gollum dropped it, it almost looked like it jumped out of his pocket, and there… There have been times when I find it somewhere on me and I don’t remember putting it there.” 

She was tense, every muscle he could see taut under her skin, and he kissed the corner of her mouth softly. “We can make a lock with multiple keys, maybe. One for you, one for me, perhaps one for Balin or Fíli. No one would be able to retrieve it without the others’ knowledge, even you.” There was still a shadow in her eyes, but she nodded and smiled, and a few minutes later, they dragged themselves out of bed to face the world. Also, three separate cases of Dwarrow complaining their neighbor stunk of troll.

 

Ralenns of Beorn’s brought playful mornings, Mirkwood brought comforting, slow kisses, and the dungeons brought near-frantic efforts to remind each other as much as themselves of their presence. The escape from Mirkwood and subsequent stay in Lake-Town only heightened both Bella’s respect for Bard and Thorin’s respect for her fear of water, as well as clear up the last of Thorin’s confusion over that morning. The weeks leading up to Erebor made it even harder to part for the day’s work, as Thorin spent his days in court and council meetings and Bella split her time between consulting in the orchards and farms and preparing the Queen’s suite for the rapidly approaching end of her pregnancy. Erebor, however, was condensed into a single Ralenn, from the morning before they reached the Mountain to the second Thorin passed out on Ravenhill, and that morning, Bella wasn’t sure what to do. Her dream had been horrible, between Smaug and Thrór whispering in the back of her mind, and the horrible, gnawing terror Thorin had felt to watch her slip away, but Thorin’s had nearly undone him.

For the first time since their wedding, he pushed her away when she reached for him, though he was careful not to risk injuring her or the baby. She knew him more than well enough, by now, to know that the bunched muscles in his back, his white-knuckled fists, and his black expression were born of guilt, not anger, but that didn't make it any easier for her to watch him ignore her pleas to listen. The doorbell rang quietly, an investment they’d made after the second time some poor soul was sent to collect them on a late morning and been traumatized by what he or she’d either heard or seen. With a sigh and a glance toward her husband, she wrapped a sheet around herself and waddled to the door. She opened it to reveal Fíli, moderately worried and extremely uncomfortable, though those qualifiers swapped when he saw her. After numerous reassurances that she was fine, she convinced her ‘Undad to fill in for Thorin and tell everyone she wouldn't be able to work that day, and shut the door with slightly less churning in her gut.

Thorin was still hunched in on himself on the floor, leaning against the bed, and she sat beside him with difficulty. “Look at me. Thorin, look at me.” When he didn't even twitch, she growled lowly. “Look at me or I’ll sit on you until you do, Thorin. I’m a fair bit heavier than I used to be, you know.” Her humor may have been slightly inappropriate, but it served its purpose; he raised his head an inch or so. She took his face in both hands and raised it until he had no choice but to look at her. “Did I blame you?” Her demand only brought a flicker of confusion, and she glared at him. “The entire time, did I ever, at any point, blame you?”

She held his gaze in silence for several long minutes before he breathed out a defeated “No.”

“No, I didn’t.” She pulled him forward to slam a harsh, close-mouthed kiss on his lips, and his rigid muscles slackened in his shock. She pulled back a fraction of an inch to glare at him again. “I didn't blame you then, I don’t blame you now, and as far as I’m concerned, if I’ve forgiven you, you have to forgive yourself.” He just stared dumbly at her, and she kissed him again with a growl. “None of it was your fault, Thorin, when are you going to realize that?”

He shook his head, but it didn't have half the fervency it had earlier. “I hurt you, more than anyone else in the Company. I don’t—”

Impatiently, she cut him off. “You don’t deserve me, yes, yes, yes, I’ve heard you think that enough times in the Ralenns to say it in my sleep, so maybe it’s time to accept that I’m simply incredible enough to love you anyway.” He gave a shocked, muted laugh, and most of her anger faded at his smile. She brushed her fingers over the lines in his brow, and they melted away at her touch. “I love you, Thorin Broodyface McMajestic Oakenshield, despite everything Smaug and Thrór did while wearing your face, when you were gold-sick, and that’s never going to change. Besides which, if what you did while gold-sick was your fault, then shouldn't it all be my fault, too, for letting you get gold-sick in the first place? I was the one to find the door, after all.” 

His expression immediately darkened, but cleared a moment later when he realized what she’d done. “And if it wasn’t your fault, which it wasn’t, it can’t be my fault, either.” He kissed her softly, and the last of the tension in his arms and shoulders eased away as he did. “Con artist.”

She giggled as he hooked his hands under her knees and picked her up, still planting gentle kisses on her face and neck. “It worked, didn't it?” He laid her on the bed and started to draw away, and she looped her arms around his neck. He froze, watching her cautiously. “You know, I told Fíli that we’d be unavailable for the rest of the day.” 

When her meaning sunk in, his eyes darkened as a wicked grin crept over his face, and he kissed her again, one hand undoing the sheet still covering her. “Well,” in between kisses, “I can’t make you a liar, can I?” She agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much nothing to say about this one, other than someone tallied it up, and apparently 950 miles is the rough distance the Company covered. Who knew?  
> Anyone who guesses who’s going to show up in the next chapter gets a cookie!  
> À bientôt!


	71. Ze'hadêm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Bagginses!

He was right about how much the Dwarrow would worry about her pregnancy, of course. They’d made the formal announcement a week and a half after Kítos and Dwalin’s wedding, after telling the Company and Dís the night before, and Thorin proved to be the average: he was more worried than most, but he also trusted her more than most. Bella lasted all of a month before she’d had to give a royal command that Hobbit Queens should be trusted to know their own limits during pregnancy. It prompted the Dwarrow to give her space, but she didn't think anyone in the Mountain, including her, breathed easily for six months. Oin had been worried, at first, that the pregnancy was proceeding too quickly, and it was hard to say whether he or Bella had been more surprised to find that while Hobbit gestations only lasted seven months, Dwarven pregnancies took eleven.

But eventually, a few days after the Ralenns finished, and after hours of more pain than she’d felt since killing Azog, Oin held up a tiny, squalling bundle and smiled. “A girl.”

He swiftly cleaned her up and handed her to Thorin. “A Hobbit.” Thorin both looked and sounded awed, and his eyes were suspiciously shiny as he lightly traced their daughter’s pointed ears. “She’s so small.” Moving as if she would break any second, he handed her to Bella and sat beside his wife.

Bella smiled at her. “She’s just the right size for a Hobbit babe, Thorin.” She’d seen newborns before, when she was a fauntling, but she’d never understood why the mothers always looked so reverential until now. She traced the tiny ears just as Thorin had, then brushed her knuckles softly over her cheek. “Our Opal. Opal Feírês Baggins. Oh, Thorin, she’s perfect.” Laughter bubbled out of Bella even as her eyes welled up, but she was careful not to disturb their now-sleeping daughter. As Bella drifted off, she felt Thorin kiss her on the cheek before delicately taking Opal out of her arms, no doubt to show her off to the family.

 

Opal grew quickly, as fauntlings do, and by the time she was in her tweens, it was time for a trip. Bella, Thorin, Opal, and their three other children, Tarin daughter of Thorin, Bilbo Frerin Baggins, and Corin son of Thorin, were nearly to the Shire. The visit would last through the winter, if Primula and Drogo agreed, and if they didn’t, Thorin would take his family to visit Ered Luin, instead. The familiar hills of Hobbiton came into view, and Bella turned to the children. “Now, what did I tell you?”

Opal opened her mouth, but Bella shot her a glance that wordlessly communicated ‘you, I’m not worried about, it’s them that’ll be trouble’. Bilbo peeped, “We’re not princes and you’re not Queen and King.”

Tarin elbowed him. “You’re not a prince, or Corin. Opal and I aren't princesses.” Bilbo nodded sagely; Corin was playing with a ‘rock’ he’d picked up in Rivendell. Bilbo wasn't sure where, exactly, he’d gotten it, but Thorin had been vastly entertained, and praised him for taking ‘the only rock worth anything in the place’. Bella’s Ralenn that night had informed her of the apparent rock’s actual worth, as well as how close Thorin had come to teaching their children a new word. It was a good thing he’d stopped himself, or Bella probably would've put him on guard duty for the rest of the trip. 

At Thorin’s signal, the Royal Guards, as planned, rode ahead to find rooms at the Green Dragon, and Bella spent the minutes before they reached the first smials relating various stories from her fauntling days, pointing out a certain tree she’d fallen out of, or a cave she’d found a family of foxes in. As they neared the market, Thorin stopped the wagon and handed Corin down to Bella while Opal climbed out beside her. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, then.”

Bella stretched up to kiss him while he leaned down, smiling against his lips. “In a few minutes.” He drove off, Tarin and Bilbo waving, and Bella adjusted Corin on her hip. “Well, love, would you like to walk?” He nodded, looking around him at the staring Hobbits, and Bella thanked the makers that she’d made them all Hobbit clothes, and that fashions hadn't changed too much in the last twenty-four years. She took his hand as she set him down, and he, in turn, took Opal’s, and Bella smiled at her eldest. “Ready?”

Opal rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Yes, Mum. Are you?”

Bella chuckled weakly. “I hope so.” They walked up the hill, the buildings progressively getting more familiar as they went, and Bella stopped involuntarily when Bag-End came into view.

“You okay, ‘Mad?”

She smiled down at Corin and squeezed his hand lightly, though Opal still looked concerned. “I’m fine, darling. I used to live there, that’s all.” The Hobbits that had been not-so-subtly trailing the three of them erupted into whispers, and Opal shot them an irritated glare as they began moving again. “They’re harmless, dear. Just gossips.” She raised an eyebrow at Bella, but looked a little comforted when Bella smiled reassuringly at her. With how they were walking, Opal was the one to push open the gate, and nodded Bella forward with a small smile.

Taking a deep breath, Bella knocked firmly on the still-green door, and waited nervously for it to open. “If that’s you, Hamfast, I still haven't gotten those shears—” The door opened. “…replaced…” Primula stood there, as frozen as Bella felt, gaping up at her. 

Bella managed a weak smile, but was taken aback as her cousin tackled her in a hug. She returned it warmly, careful not to squeeze as tightly as she did with her Dwarrow family. “I missed you too, Prim.”

“Missed?” Primula drew back, laughing with tears in her eyes. “It’s been decades, Bella! Oh, what am I doing, come in!” She moved to the side to give Bella room, and her eyes widened. “Who are these?” 

Bella turned just as Opal nudged Corin forward, and realized her daughter and Primula were the same height. “Opal Baggins, at your service.” She bobbed in a small curtsy, then poked her brother. “Go on, Cor.”

He blinked up at her for a moment, then turned back to Primula. “Cor’n of Thor’n.”

Despite herself, Bella started laughing. “Corin, son of Thorin, sweetheart.”

He blinked up at her, too. “’S what I said.” Primula started laughing, too, and gestured for Bella to go in while she greeted the children. Bella touched the door lightly where Gandalf had placed the mark, then stepped over the threshold and suddenly remembered a hundred little moments that had faded in the last few years: tracking mud through half the house when she was Bilbo’s age, coming home after babysitting Prim when she was a little younger than Opal, seeing these walls and floors and rooms when she came home that first day after the Camps, following Thorin inside after he scared away Prim— She laughed again, though she could feel tears not far behind.

A hand tapped her arm, and Opal moved beside her, frowning. “Are you alright?”

Blinking back tears and wiping away those that had already fallen, Bella nodded and smiled at her. “I just understand how your father felt seeing Erebor again, that’s all.”

Opal snorted. “At least you don't have to deal with a dragon.”

Bella hummed noncommittally. “Depends on if Lobelia’s anywhere around.” 

Primula laughed behind her, and shut the door after leading Corin in. “You’re just in time for lunch.”

Corin shrugged as he took Bella’s hand again. “‘M not hungry.”

Primula stopped, spun, and stared at him blankly. Opal snorted, and Bella chuckled. “I’m hungry for the both of us, believe me.” When Prim still looked confused, Bella elaborated, “He’s a Dwarf. They don’t eat as much.” Primula shook her head sharply with a self-deprecating smile and led the way to the dining room. Bella cleared her throat nervously. “There, um, will be three more coming, but two of them are Dwarrow, too, so they probably won’t be hungry either.”

Laughing helplessly, Primula just shook her head. “You never run out of surprises, do you, Bella?” She left the room, and Opal half-stood before Bella shook her head at her. She’d told them earlier that Hobbit hospitality meant doing your best to minimize any work your guests had to do, but Bella and Thorin had always taught their children to help whenever possible, and it was probably habit at this point. Primula brought in plates of food, and had just moved to sit when three slow knocks came at the door. She raised an eyebrow at Bella. “Your Dwarves?”

Bella smiled, then stood, smile faltering as a thought struck her. “Uh, Primula? Do you remember the night before I left, there was the one Dwarf who came up while we were talking?”

Halfway down the hall, Prim paused. “You mean the one who looked like he was about to kill me?”

Opal snorted again, and kept laughing as Bella stood and moved into the hall to sheepishly meet Primula’s eyes. “…Yes.” More knocking came from the door, this time lighter and faster, and from at least two people. The two women both chuckled, and Bella leaned against the wall as Prim opened the door.

As soon as the door opened enough for him to see Bella, Thorin smiled warmly, the expression lighting up his face, and Prim visibly relaxed. His eyes dropped to the Hobbit in front of him, and he bowed. “Thorin son of Thraín, at your service.”

Tarin stepped forward and bowed as soon as Thorin straightened. “Tarin daughter of Thorin.” 

Bilbo ducked in front of his sister, ignoring her yelp, and bowed, grinning cheekily. “Bilbo Baggins!” The sight made Bella laugh. Opal took after her father in looks, albeit not race, Tarin had his eyes and Bella’s hair, Corin had both Bella’s eyes and hair so far, though his hair might still darken, but Bilbo had his father’s hair and his mother’s eyes, and almost looked like a tiny Drogo, standing there with his hands on his hips and smiling insolently up at Prim. The Hobbit in question burst out laughing and waved the new arrivals inside. 

Later, Bella and Primula sat watching Thorin and Corin team up against the others in a game of hide and seek, and discussed the last quarter-century. “…nd we had to sort of rush the public ceremony before I was showing too much, but Thorin’s family didn't care, so he was happy.”

“And he’s really your Voshel? You’re sure you aren't imagining it?” Primula was watching him closely, but her expression was concerned, not judgmental, and Bella took no offense at the question.

She smirked. “I’m sure, Prim. Between the Ralenns and the Zhauthiet, it’s unmistakable.”

“How strong is the Zhauthiet, anyway? Is it weaker than with a Hobbit?”

Bella chuckled. “Dwarven fashions aren't like ours, Prim. Erebor is cold, especially in winter, so on the last solstice, I was wearing five layers, altogether, and he was wearing three, and all but one of them on each of us was heavy brocade. I could still feel him.” Primula’s eyes bugged, and Bella laughed out loud. Thorin turned at the sound and smiled at her, and Bilbo and Tarin took the opportunity to tackle him. Bella was still laughing, but called out, “Opal, grab Corin before he gets hurt, would you, dear?”

Her eldest quickly obeyed, and proceeded to teach her brother how to climb trees. Prim smiled. “Motherhood suits you.”

Bella chuckled and lightly pressed a hand to her abdomen. “Let’s hope it still does.” Primula, after she realized, grinned widely, and Bella matched her. “The whole reason it took this long to visit was that it was the first time we didn't have an emergency to deal with and I wasn't pregnant or nursing, and then just as we leave Rivendell, we realize I’m pregnant after all.” She sighed, and rubbed her thumb across her belly. “I’m just glad this one’s a Dwarf. Gives me more time to prepare, and all of us enough time to get home.” She laughed again; Bilbo took Thorin out at the knees with a war-cry. “But I’ve been talking about myself the entire time! How are you doing, Prim? How’s Drogo?”

As always, Primula’s face lit up at the mention of her Voshel. “He’s on a business trip for a few days, unfortunately, but he’s well. He’s even learned to use a boat, if you can imagine.” Bella shuddered, and Prim laughed. “He took our son, Frodo, with him this trip, and they’re having a wonderful time.”

Bella tilted her head. “But how are you?”

Prim’s smile faltered, tears gathering, and she blinked rapidly as she simply breathed for a few seconds. “Frodo’s Bilbo’s age. He’s an only child so far.” Her voice broke, and Bella pulled her into a hug.

“Oh, Prim.” She rubbed her cousin’s back consolingly, and waved off Thorin when he moved to come over. 

“I love Frodo, I wouldn't change him for anything, but I don’t want him to be alone.” The words were almost too obscured by tears to be understandable.

Bella sniffled, thinking of her own childhood. “I understand that, I really do.” She pulled back and wiped at Primula’s tears. “But I also know from experience that he doesn't love you any less, and he doesn't blame you at all.” Prim’s eyes filled again, and Bella pulled the younger woman back into her arms. A few minutes later, a tap on Bella’s knee broke both women out of their reflections.

A tiny hand held dirty flowers almost touching Prim’s nose, and Corin was completely straight-faced as he intoned, “These are magic. They’ll make you not sad.” Primula took the flowers carefully, and Corin trotted away, mission accomplished.

Primula looked at the Rhododendron blossoms for several seconds before meeting Bella’s eyes, and both women found themselves laughing helplessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Bagginses! Drogo is a tiny bit Sir-Not-Appearing-In-This-Fic, but hopefully you like Prim and Frodo! (When Frodo shows up next chapter, anyway.)   
> So, ages: it always kind of bugs me when authors do this, but I couldn’t figure out a way to work it into the story proper. Opal (Hobbit) = 22 (works out to a little over 14), Tarin (Dwarf) = 18 (9), Bilbo (Hobbit) = 12 (about 7 and a half), Corin (Dwarf) = 7 (3 and a half). I tried to write them so you could sort of tell what ages they were, but this is the first time I’ve written children, so I’m not sure how well I did.  
> À bientôt!
> 
> (P.S., in case it's too subtle, the Hobbit kids are all Bagginses, the Dwarflings are all 'son/daughter of Thorin's.)


	72. Nu'hadêm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (sing-song) Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, this is a Hobbit story, so have an update!

Thorin’s first meeting with Frodo was unexpected. The two Bagginses returned home while he was in the study, looking for a book Bella had mentioned liking as a fauntling, hoping to read it to Corin to help him sleep. Twenty-five years of life with Bella hadn’t made it any easier to hear Hobbits moving around, and so the quiet question took him completely off-guard. “Are you a Dwarf?”

Twenty-five years of life with Bella had, however, taught him not to startle too badly, and so he managed to keep from throwing a book at the intruder, though he did slip and fall as he spun around. The boy lurking in the doorway was nearly himself in miniature, with coal-black hair and aquamarine eyes, but a fearlessness that screamed he was related to Bella. He was Bilbo’s age and size, and their faces were similar enough that if Thorin hadn't been able to see so well in the low light, he might have mistaken the boy for his son. After he caught his breath, he modulated his voice carefully. “Yes, I am.”

“Do you have a sword?” Thorin raised an eyebrow, but nodded. The boy nodded sagely and left the room, and the next time Thorin saw him was the following morning. He walked in just behind Bilbo, and Thorin saw for himself that the two looked every bit as similar as he’d thought the night before. Apart from their eyes, the main difference was that Bilbo’s hair, like Thorin’s, was slightly brown in sunlight, where Frodo’s was more blue.

Frodo introduced himself in the same breath that he asked for ‘swording’ lessons, and Thorin just chuckled as Primula and Drogo squawked. “That’s up to your parents, Frodo.” 

They, of course, did not agree to the lessons, but did agree to let him learn Sindarin. Bella and Thorin had made sure all of their children grew up speaking it as much as they did Khuzdûl and Hobbitish, and the ensuing tutorial was a group effort, the children adding in tips and clarifications as much as the adults did. Frodo wasn’t happy to be learning alongside Corin, but consoled himself with how much better his pronunciation was than the Dwarfling’s.

The Bagginses gladly agreed to extend the family’s visit over the winter, especially when Thorin insisted on going hunting every so often to replenish the pantry, and the following months sped by. Bilbo and Frodo proved to be nearly inseparable, and while Frodo was the quieter of the two, he was no less mischievous, and the two of them caused more trouble than any of the adults would have thought possible. Opal and Primula grew close, their similar temperaments balancing out the difference in their ages, and Drogo took to reading to Corin whenever he had time. Tarin tagged along with the boys most of the time, but could be found in the study as often as not. Bella and Thorin bounced between groups as the mood took them, the peace of the Shire making it possible to give their children more independence than was possible in Erebor, and the visit became a vacation of sorts.

Before too long, though, the inactivity began to bother the Pair, and Bella busied herself with tutoring Frodo in between negotiations for the Shire to trade with Erebor as well as the closer Dwarven settlements, while Thorin set about repairing or replacing most of the tools in the Shire. Their Guards joined the Bounders, temporarily, and introduced themselves as distant cousins of Thorin’s who wanted a change of pace. Bella and Thorin spent long hours debating whether or not to tell her cousins of the truth, but eventually, and repeatedly, decided to let it be. 

 

When spring finally neared, after a thankfully peaceful winter, Bella was entering her seventh month of pregnancy, and her cousins were thoroughly astounded at how long Dwarven pregnancies lasted. As she helped Primula wash up from second breakfast, the light through the window fell on Prim’s just slightly crooked nose, and Bella stilled. “Were… were you ever angry with me? For hurting you?”

It took a moment for the younger woman to realize what Bella meant, but then she smiled kindly, faint lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth emphasizing the expression, and Bella realized suddenly that someone who didn't know them would think Prim the older. “Never. Me and… and Mother,” Both women’s faces fell at the memory of the now-late Mirabella, but Primula rallied. “We never blamed you. You were so frightened during your nightmares that we couldn’t, and you obviously felt wretched about them. Angry with you for those? No. For never sending a single letter after you left?” They laughed. “Yes, a bit, but I forgave you for that weeks ago.”

“You’re sure?”

Primula stepped forward and took Bella’s hands, smiling up at her. “I’m sure. So sure, in fact, that I’m going to ask you for a favor.”

Bella raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Oh?”

Prim nodded. “Drogo’s been trying to convince me to come out with him on his boat for ages, and I think I will today, before the rains start and the river gets too high. But I still don’t feel comfortable taking Frodo with us. Could you keep him entertained for the afternoon?”

Smiling broadly, Bella nodded. “Of course. Can’t leave another ‘Child of the Kindly West’ on his own.” Primula just started laughing, and Bella, smiling, rolled her eyes in mock-annoyance. “And for some reason I thought Thorin would’ve come up with all the nicknames he could by now, but no. He may not say them, but he certainly does think them.” Despite herself, Bella couldn't help the silly grin that accompanied her words, and even less so the fond tone.

“Stars!” Drogo’s voice brought a fresh volley of laughter.

“Speaking of,” Prim calmed just enough to get the words out as she took off her apron. “Frodo thought my first name was ‘Stars’ until he was nearly eight!”

Bella laughed again and flicked her cousin lightly with the apron. “Go on! I’ll finish here.”

Between breaks to cook meals for the seven of them, Bella spent the day with Frodo. It amused her how like Thorin he was, despite there being no relation. Perhaps some of it was due to his friendship with Bilbo, but Frodo had Thorin’s mischief, Thorin’s solemnity, both mock and genuine, and so Bella had found it easy, over the last months, to form a solid friendship with her little cousin. Their shared fascination with Elves had begun the relationship, though Bella’s had long been tempered by her acquaintance with Thranduil and Elros, who was still the Greenwood’s ambassador, but by now, Bella felt as at ease with Frodo as she did with her own children, and he in turn spoke with her more easily than he did with most of the Hobbits she saw around Hobbiton.

The afternoon was spent explaining how, despite being completely different races, she could have brothers, an uncle, and a father who were Dwarrow, and the personal topic was the only reason she could keep her mind on the subject. Primula and Drogo weren’t back yet. As the shadows lengthened and the sky grew ever darker, Bella found herself listening for them and glancing at Thorin more and more often, and it grew more and more difficult to distract Frodo from his worry. Finally, after he got Corin settled down to bed, Thorin moved to the door. “Where were they going?”

His voice was a quiet rumble, pitched to avoid waking Tarin where she slept on Opal’s lap, but the Hobbits heard him clearly. “Dad likes The Water.” 

Hugging Frodo was awkward with her belly in the way, but Bella managed, and met Thorin’s eyes over the fauntling’s head. “Follow the Bywater east, past Bywater Pool. It’s an hour or so away, if you hurry.”

He nodded grimly and jammed on his boots as he left. They sat in silence for a little under an hour before Bella noticed the time. “Opal, get Tarin to bed. Bilbo, you too.” Bilbo began to protest, but Opal shushed him and hurried the two out. She returned a few minutes later, and Bella smiled tiredly at her. “You really are doing wonderfully, ‘Umsamê. I don’t think I’ve told you that enough.”

“No, you haven’t.” She smiled at Bella impishly, and while she was careful not to jostle Frodo as he dozed, Bella couldn't help but laugh. “But really, I’m happy to help. I’ll be more happy to be home, though. I’ve even started missing Gimli.” 

This time, Bella did jostle Frodo, despite her efforts. Gimli was more like his cousin Daín than anyone else, and Opal had spent most of her fauntling years finding new ways to antagonize him. However, of all the Dwarrow in Erebor, Gimli had probably adapted best to how quickly Hobbits matured, and had taken her rapidly-evolving jibes in stride, returning them as often as not. Out of curiosity, Bella had followed them once or twice, and had realized that Gimli was one of few Dwarrow to treat her like an adult, despite how young she was by their standards. The two of them poked at each other constantly, but neither one ever crossed the line to being cruel, and once, truly by coincidence, Bella’d heard Gimli confront a few Dwarrow his age who’d ignored that line. She still didn't know what they’d said to incur his wrath, but she’d heard his defense of her daughter, and had been impressed with his vocabulary.

Privately, Bella thought Gimli remembered being passed over for the Quest even though he was barely younger than Kíli, and sympathized with the girl everyone else treated like a child. It would be interesting to see whether their relationship would change as Opal grew, but for now there was nothing to do but sit back and enjoy the banter. For such a young Hobbit, and really any Dwarf, they were quite witty when they wanted to be.

“Amad?” When Bella looked up from the now-sleeping fauntling next to her, Opal was staring at her, wide-eyed and slightly hunched in on herself, and Bella abruptly realized how young she was. _And yet already with more of a childhood than I had_. By the time she’d been Opal’s age, she’d already been handed off from her first holder to Azog. Twin emotions struck her: relief that her daughter wouldn't have to suffer as she had, and pain that she’d had to suffer at all. “If something’s wrong, what’ll we do?”

Opal was glancing between her and Frodo, and Bella delicately smoothed a few strands of hair off his cheek before turning back to the tween. “What Hobbits always do, ‘Ubnabun. Adapt however we need to, and help however we can.” 

It was another three hours before Thorin returned, and by then even Opal was soundly dreaming. He had taken his boots off before he reached the gate, by the sound, and so was quiet enough not to wake either of the sleepers. Bella lurched to her feet and silently waddled to the hall to meet him, and her heart fell at how broken he looked. He pulled her to him, resting his head against hers, and simply held her for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was low enough that Bella doubted she’d have heard it from a few feet away. “Drowned.”

A strangled sob left her before she could stop it, and she pressed a hand to her mouth so roughly that her teeth left tiny cuts on her fingers. If Thorin hadn't been supporting her, she would've fallen as her legs turned to liquid, and he helped her into the parlor as Opal woke. The sight of Frodo peacefully asleep on the sofa brought her back to reality, and she forced herself to calm. She looked up at her husband, and mouthed, ‘now or morning?’. That was the only question that mattered at the moment. Frodo needed to know, but to wake him now, or to wait until he woke on his own? Thorin just raised his eyebrows at her, and she decided. 

She sat carefully by Frodo’s knees, while Thorin kneeled on the floor, near his head. Gently, she laid a hand on the fauntling’s shoulder, and he stirred immediately. Blearily, he pushed himself to sit up; Bella turned to Opal and quietly spoke. “Darling, sit with your siblings, please.” 

Fighting back tears, the tween nodded and fled the room, while Frodo realized Thorin was there. “Mister Thorin? Did you find them?” 

Thorin’s beard twitched, and Bella knew he was trying to hold back a grimace. Slowly, he nodded, and Bella rubbed Frodo’s back soothingly as the boy’s eyes widened. He shook his head, faintly at first, then frantically, desperately, and Bella’s heart broke for him. She pulled him closer and held him, and the last vestiges of his resolve seemed to leave him; he broke into wracking sobs, and clung to Bella with more strength than she’d thought would be possible for someone as young as he was. Thorin moved onto the sofa, on Frodo’s other side, and bent his head over the boy, offering support the most basic way he knew how. Delicately, Bella took his hand and drew it to Frodo’s, and he gripped it lightly. He jolted a moment later, and Bella suspected he was as surprised at the Hobbit’s grip as she’d been. 

The two orphans both held Frodo as he sobbed for nearly an hour before the his exhaustion got the better of him, and Bella remembered when her own parents had died. Bungo had gone so quickly that she almost hadn't had time to process it before her mother began to fade away. When her mother’s hand cooled in hers, the reality of it had hit her all at once, and she’d reacted much as Frodo had. However, the Orcs hadn't given her any time to grieve before they took away her parents’ corpses, and she’d lashed out at them. The ensuing punishment had ranked among the worst of her captivity, and above all, she thanked Eru, now, that Frodo could grieve properly, that Primula and Drogo would be buried as Hobbits should be, and that he wouldn't be alone, as she’d been, and that he’d have more support than Thorin’d had. 

He wouldn't suffer as they had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although, not sure how much of a birthday present this is. Well, probably about like giving your barely-an-adult nephew a Ring of Power, actually. Hmm.   
> Anyway, ‘’Umsamê’ means ‘greatest jewel’, which I think should probably be self-explanatory, and ‘’Ubnabun’ means ‘tiny gem’, which… yeah, also self-explanatory.   
> À bientôt!


	73. Gemhadêm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

It had been nearly a week since the funeral when Bella asked Frodo if they could speak in private. She’d asked Thorin if he would help, but he’d insisted that she was the better candidate, and so she and Frodo sat in the garden together. They were on the same bench where Bella and Primula had watched Thorin play with the children, where Frodo’d hid behind Bella and watched his cousins practice their sword forms, where decades before any of that, Bella and her parents had sat and made up stories for the constellations. 

Bella took a deep breath before she began. “I wish that this could wait, Frodo, I really do. Your uncle Rorimac has offered to take you in.” He looked up at her, eyes wide. “But Thorin and I would be glad to have you.” His chin quivered, and she gently wiped away a tear as it tracked down his cheek. “I truly wish this could wait, that we could stay, but we’ll have to leave the Shire by the end of the week if we’re to have any chance of getting back to Erebor before the baby comes. If you would like to come with us, we would keep Bag-End in trust for you, in case you changed your mind, which you would be free to at any time, until you come of age.”

“If I want to stay?” Bella shoved down the heartache at the thought.

“Then you would live in Brandy Hall, in Buckland, with your mother’s family.” 

He didn't respond for several minutes, and Bella waited patiently, dreading the possibility that he would choose to stay behind in the Shire. Abruptly, he leaned against her side, and let out an anguished whisper. “But how can I come with you? What if the Dwarrow don’t like me? You said there’s a King, what if he doesn’t let me in?” With a sad smile, she kissed his head. _This, at least, is easily answered_.

“He will.”

“But how do you know?”

Carefully, she lifted his chin to meet her eyes. “Because Thorin is King. And I’m Queen.”

His brow furrowed, and she could almost see him thinking. “You can’t be. Who would be in charge of Erebor?”

“My brother Fíli. He’s Thorin’s heir, and he’s filled in for us a time or two before.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, expression unchanging, before his face fell again. “What if I change my mind?” It was barely a whisper, but Bella heard him nonetheless.

Wrapping her arms around him, again she had to shove down the part of her that screamed he was hers. “If you stay and change your mind, you could send a message with the Rangers. They would contact us, and we would come and get you as soon as we could. If you come and change your mind, we would bring you back here as soon as we could. What you decide now doesn't have to be final.” 

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, and the little nudnadun began kicking Bella’s side, and, after a few seconds, simultaneously punching her other side. He (or she, but Thorin didn't like to get his hopes up, and Bella had picked up the habit) was more active than Corin had been, but about the same as Tarin. Bilbo and Opal had both been active, but neither had been as strong as their siblings. Frodo, the few times she’d been able to let him feel it before the nudnadun stopped, had been nearly ecstatic, but now she simply shifted in her seat and let the boy think. In the end, he fell asleep on the bench, and Thorin carried him inside while Bella opened doors for him. He woke, briefly, when the two of them were tucking him into bed, but was asleep again a few seconds later. The next morning while she was making breakfast, Bella felt little arms wrap around her hips and looked down, expecting to see Bilbo. Instead, Frodo met her eyes soberly. “I want to come with you.”

Everything was arranged quickly, and, with Frodo’s permission, the family set out three days later. The Gamgees would take care of Bag-End until he either sent word to sell it or to prepare for his return, and the journey was untroubled, though not unhurried. Bella’s labor pains started when they were still an hour away from Erebor, and Oin barely met her inside the gates before the new Princess was born. Frodo, as a way to reassure him that Bella was alright, was the first to hold Varin, daughter of Thorin, and Bella heard him softly whisper, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

 

Frodo settled well into Erebor, though not easily. Opal and Gimli both became his protectors, while he in turn protected Varin. For nearly a year after he arrived, Bella and Thorin hesitated to teach him any Khuzdûl. It wasn't until the night he called them Aunt and Uncle that they formally offered him their beads. He didn't understand any more than Bella had at first, but after a long explanation, he accepted their beads and asked if he could give them anything in return. For that discussion, Bella and Thorin brought in her entire family, and it was decided that Frodo would be adopted by Thorin, but officially and permanently a part of Bella’s family, with full permission from her, as head of the family, to use her bead for whatever he wished. He gave both of them copies of Bella’s bead, once they were made, and most of the Mountain seemed to accept him a little more easily after that.

He and Bilbo remained friends, though now that he had the freedom to roam about as he wished, he spent a fair amount of time in the library with Tarin. He was a bit star-struck by Legolas, but that faded as the years went by; gradually, he and Opal managed to get Gimli to be civil to the Elf more often than not, and by the time he came of age, the six of them were firm friends. After twenty-one years of living in Erebor, no one wanted Frodo to leave, and so everyone was at least somewhat relived when he announced he would stay in Erebor for the rest of his life, if he could. The children, who would always be children to Bella despite the fact that Opal and Bilbo were also technically adults, and Tarin was only a year away from her own majority, fairly swarmed him when he made the declaration. There were another three into the mix by now, but only the twins, Drogo Balin and Bungo Sídri, were old enough to run after their older siblings. Primula Nís was still learning to crawl.

For a while, Bella had hoped that Frodo and Tarin were Paired, but that was quickly disproven. She’d asked Opal, earlier that day, if there were any Dwarrow she had her eye on. Seeing her daughter’s disgust at the age difference, Bella reminded her that she was the same age Bella had been when Opal was born, and that Thorin was a hundred and forty-three years her senior. Oddly enough, that didn't help. She did start looking at Gimli a little strangely, though.

 

Bella stretched leisurely, keeping her eyes closed for a few more blessed seconds. The mattress shifted beside her, and then Thorin was kissing her languidly. She deepened the kiss, smiling, but her eyes flew open a moment later, and she pushed him away. He looked wounded, and more than a little concerned, but she didn't give him time to ask anything. “Your breath tastes like fish.” His eyebrows shot up, and she tackled him in a somewhat more energetic kiss. He laughed into the kiss, and rolled them until he was on his back, Bella on top of him, and she smiled at the feeling of his callouses on her abdomen. “Honestly, you Dwarrow.” She broke the kiss to smirk down at him. “You’d think the excitement would wear off after baby number… what are we on? Thirty-five?”

He laughed, and surged up to kiss her again. “Thirty-six. Want to make it thirty-seven?”

Grinning, she took a moment to relish the feeling of his hair against her skin before responding. “It’s a good thing we’re not in the Shire. My Grandfather’s probably rolling in his grave as it is. I think I’ve broken almost all of his records by now.”

“Certainly the age.”

“Certainly. After all,” she laughed, “Who ever heard of a Hobbit living for over a hundred and ninety years?”

 

In the end, she lived to be just over three hundred, and passed away quietly in her sleep. Thorin, at four hundred and forty-four, followed her a few hours later, unaware that she’d preceded him until he opened his eyes to see her, as young as they day they’d met, or younger, grinning at him. He realized quickly that he was even younger, somewhere around Azanulbizar, and quickly after that, that Dwalin was there with Kítos, with Bofur and Dori and Balin and Feíres, with Fíli and Kíli, with Thraín and Khís, with Belladonna and Bungo, with Primula and Drogo, with Opal and Gimli, with Frodo and Bilbo and Tarin, with all their friends and family lost to time and some who’d still been hale and hearty the last he’d seen them, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and more. They were safe. They were together. They were happy. Bella and Thorin held each other and smiled. The Second Song was all around them, and it was more beautiful than they could have ever imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you got two notifications last night; I accidentally posted the penultimate chapter twice. I’m just glad I checked my email before I went to bed.   
> Anyway, that’s the end of it. I know some of you were hoping for more about Dís, Sigrid, and a few others, but this has always been a Bagginshield story first and foremost, and going into everything would have drawn out the story longer than it needed to be. I might add a ‘missing scene’ chapter or two, or I might work it into the sequel; it would be a redo of the War of the Ring, obviously, *if* I write it. I still haven’t decided either way. And if I do, it’ll be at least a year before it’s ready to post, maybe two.  
> Regardless, I’m glad you’ve all liked this story (every time I see that new people have bookmarked it or left kudos, it makes my day; every time I see that Kintsukuroi has more kudos or bookmarks than a story I admire, it makes my month), and I hope you’ll like the next as much; I think I’ll take a brief hiatus, but I don’t think it’ll be too long before I start posting it, so keep an eye out! (^u^)  
> Thank you all, so much. Thank you for sticking with me when I soliloquize, thank you for offering suggestions for how to make this story better, and, of course, thank you, betas. I couldn’t have done this without you.
> 
> (P.S., the Dwarves were right; they worked alongside Mahal in the building of Arda Unmarred, just as the Hobbits worked alongside Yavanna in the planting, and Eru did, after everything, adopt both Races as His children.)  
> (P.P.S., and they lived happily ever after.)

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, here's my big fic. Will be posting twice a week on Wednesdays and Sundays. Hope you enjoy! (Betaed by Mabmon!)


End file.
